The Swim Home
by maej26
Summary: Mike comes to Alex's rescue in a big way, but this doesn't sit right with his wife Maryse. Takes place in 2014. (m/m slash)


**Title** : The Swim Home

 **Pairing:** Mike "The Miz" Mizanin and Alex Riley (Kevin Kiley, Jr.)

 **Rating:** M

 **Summary:** Mike comes to Alex's rescue in a big way, but this doesn't sit right with his wife Maryse. Takes place in 2014.

 **A/N (1):** FOR MIZLEY DAY.

 **A/N (2):** This story was conceived of back in the summer of 2014 during the budget cuts and Alex Riley was acting very strange on twitter. I got a distinct sense of depression and desperation from the guy which made me very sad and in my head I linked that to the budget cuts and that bulk release of superstars.

Shortly after I started writing this, however, I also got the idea for Hollywood Nights and it turned out having that much inspiration fall on me all at once was enough to shut me down with a severe case of writer's block. These two stories were cemented in my head and it was impossible to extract them. For Mizley Day last year I forced myself to choose one so HN won out because I knew it would be shorter. But after that was done, it turned out this fic was too overwhelming on its own so writer's block and procrastination took hold until New Year's Eve when I made finishing this fic my resolution. I gave myself the next 4 months and 22 days to write it and I finished it on March 21, 2016. A FULL TWO MONTHS EARLY!

It's a bit sad/ironic the way things in real life have played out and circled back around. You'll know what I mean when you read it.

I really hope you enjoy this one.

* * *

 _i._

A rolling thunder plucks Alex from the zone mid-lap. He shifts his weight in the water, gliding over onto his back, unsure if he has time to finish his usual routine before the storm hits. When he lived in Florida he'd always check the forecast first thing, but since rain isn't a typical occurrence for where he is now, it hasn't been necessary these past two months.

Another dull rumbling can be heard off in the distance. Though lightning could strike at any moment, Alex feels compelled to remain where he is for just a while longer; the thunder proving to be more soothing than ominous.

Floating in the middle of the pool, his field of view is dominated by the house he's currently residing in. It's bigger and more luxurious than any home he would ever choose for himself. Not only does it exceed practicality, it exceeds his price range, which, ironically enough, is the reason why he's here.

He looks to the windows and the numerous balconies; to the waterfall and the second floor landing of the stone staircase. He thinks about the man who generously offered him a place to stay in his greatest time of need. And then he thinks about the conversation he had with his father the previous day. Watercolors of fleeting thoughts bleeding from one into the other.

His visual ascent takes him beyond the Spanish clay rooftop and up to the cloud-blanket covering the sky as if the stars have been tucked in for the night. It's getting late. He should be in bed, too, but that thunder, now joined by a gentle breeze, seductive in its own way, convinces him to stay.

Swirling, whirling palm fronds marry with the rustling leaves on the old Oak trees. Nature's hypnotic symphony cuts through the constant droning of residential traffic, and for the first time in months, he takes a deep breath, allowing the air to permeate. His eyes drift shut as he imagines it seeping into the recesses of his tired mind, and maybe, _hopefully_ , enough will reach his heart to quell the constant ache.

He tilts his head back so his ears rest below the waterline, his arms and legs finding the perfect balance. When the breeze has been absorbed into his bloodstream, he opens his eyes. A sense of peace only a lover's touch can conjure cascades over him, immersing him beneath its healing waters, and yet, he still floats; face to the cloudless sky. He gazes up at the pinpoints of light, surprised he's suddenly able to see them. He's never taken the time to look up before, but figured even on a clear night the artificial glow of L.A. would be enough to drown them out. Yet there they are, twinkling diamonds exalted by a dark canvas.

In this moment he finds comfort through narcissistic abandon. As if the clouds had parted just for him. As if the Hollywood lights have dimmed just for him. As if each one of those stars are shining just for him.

This mentality reminds him of a similar realization. But it hurts to think about that. Especially _now_. And where he is. The swimming tends to help most nights, particularly if it's right before his head hits the pillow. If it doesn't wear him out entirely, it at least serves to get his mind focused on the burning of his muscles. He goes to the gym for the same reason. Loses himself in the reps for hours at a time. Tries not to think about why he wants to stay in shape, only that he must. The call could come at any time and he knows he has to be ready. Because it will happen. It has to happen. At this point, it's all he has left.

 _Alex…_

He hears his muffled name off in the distance. Remembers when that name was plastered on posters and echoed throughout arenas; when that name meant something.

 _Alex!_

There it is again, raining down on him from the upper levels of the arena. The beginning of a chant, perhaps? Yes, he remembers that, too. When he'd walk out on stage, they cheered for him so loud it overpowered his entrance music. He sees himself walking down the ramp, as if he _is_ walking down the ramp. And then he's in the ring again, how it used to be, landing one of his signature moves, a dropkick in this instance, and the crowd loves it. They want more and so does he. So, he gladly–

" _Kevin!"_ shouts a man at the edge of the pool.

With that, Alex is snatched from his match; his real name and the panicked voice that carried it bringing him back to reality as his head plunges below the surface.

 _ii._

The steely walls backstage have always been quite drab to Mike; usually a pale, uninviting gray not unlike the walls tonight. But as he walks the endless corridors of the arena they seem to glow with a vibrant intensity he's never noticed before. Neon hues of blues and greens and flecks of pearly pinks pop from the textured surface. He reaches his hand out and drags it along the wall beside him; his fingertips tingling from the tiny grooves of its topography.

He hasn't felt this alive in months.

Just shy of his destination, a voice carrying his name travels down the hall prompting him to turn around.

"Back so soon?"

"Yeah, I'm back. I was just talking to some of the other guys about–"

"No, I mean we hardly noticed you were gone."

"Gee, thanks," Mike says sarcastically. "But three months on location was long enough, believe me."

"Three months, huh? Must've needed a hell of a lot of retakes."

"I only need one take, thank you very much."

"Sure. So, what's with the getup?"

"It's my new look." Mike dramatically straightens his posture and brushes off his right shoulder with his dominant hand. "Stylish, right?"

"I don't know, man. A white suit with a scarf in the middle of summer?"

"Well, yeah. It's a summer scarf. It's the hottest trend in Hollywood right now. Aside from me, of course."

"Whatever you say."

Mike just smirks. It's too easy to get under people's skin and he loves it. Plus, with a reaction like this, he knows he's sure to aggravate the audience and propel himself into the next phase of his career. And he needs that, for more reasons than just one.

"I gotta go. I'm heading back for a pre-tape, so, um, good luck with all of _this_."

"Cute," Mike says, easily dismissing the slight against his suit and movie-star good looks. "But believe me, I don't need luck." With that, he makes an about-face to continue on his way, but just as quickly boomerangs back around. "Oh hey, have you seen Riley?"

"No, man, haven't seen him."

All Mike does is nod nonchalantly. He definitely doesn't show his disappointment. It'd be a waste of energy anyway because it's just about time for Alex to be heading out to the Preshow panel. Knowing he'll see him soon enough, he makes his way to the spot he used to wait in before he left. Even though they're not on the greatest of terms, he's always wished the guy luck before each show. It's become customary at this point; a tradition, and being away for three months isn't going to change that. Nothing could ever change that.

After a while, however, the waiting starts to feel more like loitering. He looks to his left down a long hallway and then to his right, but there's no sign of Alex.

There's a tightening in the center of his chest. Something's not right. He checks his watch and rushes to the nearest television. A few of his co-workers are gathered in front of it and when he sees the screen, his stomach drops. It's Alex, but he's not at the arena.

"Where are they?"

"Stamford," one of the men says over his shoulder, but Mike doesn't care to recognize the voice, only the answer.

Stamford? But that's where WWE Headquarters is located. Why would…

His thoughts become as cloudy as his vision. He leaves the room, stiff as he wills himself to walk as normal as possible, but his body jitters beneath the surface. The second he's out of view, hidden behind a stack of equipment trunks, he feels the true nature of his attack.

This panic. He's felt this panic before.

He wipes away the wetness from under his eyes and starts to squirm. The clothes against his skin have become irritating, scratching and grating, sandpaper grit, and he can hardly stand it. He unbuttons the top of his dress shirt and removes the blue silk summer scarf from around his neck praying this setup is only temporary and Alex will be back next week.

After a few minutes of failed self-assurance, and before he's able to stop himself, he sends Alex a text.

« _You guys at hq from now on?_

Another round of the waiting game ensues. Another layer of anxiety ripples through him. If only he could be outside breathing fresh air maybe this might be more bearable for him. But instead, he's stuck sucking in the stale stench of fear. It's not until after the Preshow has ended does he get a reply.

» _Ya,, looks that way_

His stomach instantly folds over on itself. "Okay, okay, okay. Just breathe," he whispers. "It's okay."

Knowing he can't hide away for the rest of the night, no matter how much he wishes he could, he composes himself and then he walks out into the hall; that drab, uninviting gray closing in on him.

 _iii._

For weeks after his return Mike can't help but feel guilty for ever having left at all. He can tell Alex isn't happy about the change either. The guy appears to be having fun on the Preshow, making the best out of a shitty situation, but he knows him too well. He knows the way he publicly copes with pain, the way he masks it with a smile, and more often than not, with a laugh. But that's only when people can see him.

The walls he's built around himself become more transparent on his days off, when he's not seen, when he's tweeting randomly, nonsensically. Angrily.

It's an outlet Mike knew Alex needed and it was only a matter of time before he found it. That pain has finally filtered its way onto social media for the whole world to see. For everyone to mock. But it's only because they don't know.

Mike watches the man's meltdown in real time, wanting to reach out to him more and more with each notification, but feeling like it isn't his place. Not anymore.

But he can't help it. Even when he's sitting across from his wife in a romantic, gourmet restaurant he can't pull himself away from Alex's thinly veiled cries for help. A new distressed tweet pops up by the minute.

"Michael, are you listening to me?"

Mike tilts his chin up, but is unwilling to peel his eyes from his phone. "Huh?"

"Put that away. You're embarrassing me."

"Just a second," he says, tossing his cloth napkin to the table and getting up. "I'll be right back."

Mike finds a small area that's secluded from prying ears and dials Alex's number. _Pick up, pick up–_

"Mike?"

"Are you okay?"

"Never better."

"Alex," Mike sighs, "you can still talk to me... Is it because…"

"Because what?"

"Because you're not wrestling?"

"They have me in Stamford one night a week. For thirty minutes, Mike. I go to work for thirty minutes a week. Two fucking hours a month. Oh, I'm sorry, _five_ hours including the pay-per-views. Do you know what that does to a man?"

"I know what it's like to be taken away and not being able to wrestle." Mike cringes the instant the words leave his lips knowing exactly how they'll be received.

"It's not the same thing. They sent you off to make a movie and you knew you'd be in the ring again. But me? They don't want me wrestling. At all. They've essentially banished me. Won't even let me be in the arena for TVs now. I used to hope against hope that they'd at least book me on _Superstars_ every now and then, but now I don't even have that to hold onto. I can't prove myself if I'm not in the ring. There's no upward trajectory for me. They're just going to phase me out until my contract is up. There's no way they're going to renew it. Not with them cleaning house the way they are right now. There's just no way. It was bad enough having to worry about travel expenses before, but now I'm wondering how I'm supposed to pay my mortgage and I've made a few shit investments that–"

"Hey…" Mike doesn't mean to interrupt, he just doesn't want Alex to worry himself sick. "I don't know why they're not using you. I'm sorry. I don't know. It doesn't make sense to me either, but if it's money you're worried about, why don't you ask your dad for a loan? I'm sure he'd–"

"I can't."

The exasperation, the absoluteness in Alex's tone tells Mike to back off. "Well, maybe you could…"

"…I could what?"

Mike turns to the wall, lowers his voice a bit. "Maybe you could come stay at my place? Until you can get back on your feet."

There's a long pause and Mike presses the phone to his ear, afraid he won't hear the answer.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Mike."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

"I know. But I'm barely home as it is and you'd be on the other side of the house. And it'd just be for a little while."

"Maryse would have a conniption the size of Kansas."

"She'll be fine with it. I promise." Mike closes his eyes and leans his forehead to the wall as he waits for a response, but Alex remains silent. He can't even hear the man's breath. "They have training facilities out here and just think, you can go to Venice Beach to workout whenever you want."

"Twist my arm, why don't you."

Mike laughs with an airy forcefulness that suggests he'd been holding his breath. "C'mon, what do you say?"

"Okay," Alex says softly. "Thank you."

"I'll talk to you later."

 _xxxx_

Maryse watches her husband make his way through the restaurant, curious about why he left. What was so urgent and why did it take him so long? She's even more interested in the drastic change in his demeanor.

There's an uneasy sense of déjà vu that settles over her. Mike was so worried before, like his favorite team was losing and his whole future was riding on the last play. But now he seems almost giddy, like his team just won the Super Bowl!

What was this bet he placed?

Upon returning to the table, he takes out his wallet and inserts a credit card in the black vinyl check presenter and waves down their waitress. Maryse is so puzzled by Mike's behavior she hardly notices the woman approach them, but when she finally does, she looks up with a clenched smile, suddenly aware she hadn't been smiling at all.

After the waitress is out of ear-shot, Maryse directs her attention back to Mike. "What was all that about? Is everything okay?"

"Oh yeah, it's fine. It was just Alex. He's going to be staying with us for a little while."

" _Pardon?!"_

"It's not that big a deal, he's having some financial difficulties is all."

Maryse gulps hard, pebbles grinding in her dry throat. "So you told him he could move into my home? Tu as perdu la tête?!"

"I'm sorry," Mike says slowly, glaring up at his wife, "but my friend's going through something right now and–"

" _Your friend?"_

Mike scowls at the woman's incredulity. "Yes, my friend. No matter what happened, he'll always be my friend."

"No. No way in hell is he living with us."

"Well, that's too damned bad because I already told him he could and I won't go back on my word."

"Don't do that. Don't pretend this is about your word when we both know it's about–"

"Hey!" Mike snaps. "I will not rescind my offer. He's my friend. He needs help. And in case you've forgotten, I'm the one who pays the fucking bills around here."

"Lower your voice," Maryse hisses through gritted teeth, looking around self-consciously. When she addresses Mike again, she does so almost pleadingly. "If it's money he needs, just write him a check."

Mike scans the woman's eyes, feeling stuck.

"That's what I thought."

Fortunately for Mike, he's given a short respite when the waitress returns with the receipt. He gathers the pen from inside of the booklet, hits the clicker on the table and hesitates signing the bill. Thoughts bubble to the surface as he stares at the pricey amount that's owed. "What do I ever ask for?" He does not employ inflection, nor does he lift his eyes. The emotion belongs to him and him alone. "I work my ass off so you can have everything. I give you everything."

With that, he scratches his name on the line, putting an end to the dinner as well as the conversation.

Maryse leans back in her chair, feeling forced to capitulate. She takes a controlled breath and looks down to her lap. Picks up the cloth napkin and wipes the corners of her mouth, trying to calm herself. She folds it neatly and places it next to her plate. "Not everything," she finally says.

She looks up to Mike with watery eyes, hurt that he, once again, hasn't heard her.

 _iv._

It takes Alex about a month to find a suitable renter and flesh out the logistics, but as soon as he's able to sub-lease his condo, he's on a plane to California.

When he lands, he sends Mike a text telling him he'll be arriving shortly and when his taxi pulls up to the house, he's met by the man and his wife.

"Only one suitcase?" Maryse asks with a condescending laugh.

Mortified, Mike shoots the harshest of looks towards the woman.

"I shipped out a few boxes this morning," Alex says, unable to make eye contact. "They should be here in a few days."

Mike looks back to Alex, releasing a breath, relieved by the response, both in what he said and how he said it. Maryse, on the other hand, droops her head, silently berating herself for believing he'd only brought one suitcase and the length of his visit would be equal to the amount of outfits he has in it.

Since it's Alex's first time in Mike's home, he's given the grand tour. He tries not to appear awestricken, but he is. Mike's made quite an impressive life for himself and he can't help but be proud of the guy.

After being shown the kitchen and laundry room, the pool, the bar area and the theater room, he's escorted to the bedroom he'll be staying in. It's spacious and much nicer than any luxury hotel.

"There's brand new shampoo and toothpaste and stuff in the bathroom in case you don't make it out tonight. And if there's anything else you need, don't hesitate to ask."

"We have to go get ready," Maryse says, discreetly tugging on Mike's hand, and then to Alex, "We're going out for dinner."

"Would you like to join us?"

Maryse squeezes Mike's hand with a viselike grip. "I'm sure he'd rather settle in. Besides," she says, looking to Alex again, "it's our date night. We go out every Thursday."

"I remember."

"C'mon, babe," Maryse says, yanking Mike in her direction.

Mike follows Maryse's lead but breaks away after a few paces. "I almost forgot," he says, turning back to Alex and reaching into his pocket. He walks closer to the man, pulls out a key and hands it over. The two stare into each other's eyes, Alex's fingers mindlessly grazing Mike's as he takes the key.

Maryse doesn't want to, wishes she wouldn't, but she glances back at the men for a second and only a second because that's all she can bear. "Mike, we have reservations."

She counts five whole steps before she hears her husband plodding behind her.

 _xxxx_

The next morning, Alex heads down to the kitchen to fix himself breakfast only to find Maryse doing the same.

"Mornin'."

"Bonjour."

Alex opens the fridge and sets a carton of eggs on the island. "I didn't get a chance yesterday, but I wanted to thank you for your generosity. Letting me stay here is a huge help."

"Don't thank me. I didn't have a say in the matter."

"Oh?"

"Does that surprise you?"

"Actually, yeah. That doesn't sound like the Mike I know."

"Maybe you don't know him as well as you think you do."

Rather than continuing down that path, Alex furtively surveys the kitchen, wondering which cabinet holds the plates and where he can find a frying pan. These are things he should have asked yesterday, or at the very least investigated while the couple were out to dinner, but his nerves seemed to get the best of him, just as they are now. "He already left?"

"Oui. He'll be back Wednesday."

"I know," Alex says absently and then catches himself. "Look, you don't have anything to worry about. I'm not here to cause you any trouble. You don't need to feel threatened."

"Threatened? Of _you_?"

Alex flinches. There's that condescending laughter again. He hates that it always feels like the woman is mocking him. For as long as he's known her she's done nothing but belittle him and snicker at him. In the beginning he didn't understand the hostility, but these days, he knows he deserves it.

"In case you've forgotten, I'm the one he married. He chose _me_."

Alex takes a step back and crosses his arms over his chest. "Exactly."

 _xxxx_

Mike's home a handful of days during the following month and the only time he seems to see Alex is before bed. But even then, he doesn't get to speak to him because it's usually after a night out with Maryse and by the time he's ready for bed, it's too late. There's just no excuse for him to go back downstairs at that point. Not that it would matter anyway. Alex is usually outside, and tonight, he finds, is no exception.

As Maryse is getting ready for bed, Mike stands by the window, lingering down to the pool. Alex is swimming, exactly as he knew he would be.

He watches the guy complete lap after lap. Front crawl. Always the front crawl. He never realized how much Alex loves to swim. And he's pretty good at it, too. Good form from what he can tell from his aerial view. If they had known each other in high school, Alex would have been team captain for sure, and as much as Mike would've wanted that title for himself, he'd have happily settled for second best.

Maryse emerges from the bathroom and looks to her husband, wishing she could unsee the image of him twisting his wedding band around his finger. She's no expert on body language, but in this case it's pretty obvious what he's fixated on. "Come to bed," she says as she turns down the sheets.

"In a minute."

Mike watches Alex swim the length of the pool a few more times and then reluctantly turns away.

He lies in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, unable to switch his brain off. He's never been much for sleep as it is, but the company is sending him to Malaysia on a two-day promotional tour between his regularly scheduled appearances. It'll just be a bunch of interviews gearing up for the official visit next month, but he'll be away from home for almost two weeks because of it and was hoping to have one solid night of sleep before he left. He looks to Maryse to make sure his stirring hasn't woken her and then he gets up and quietly heads downstairs for some Chamomile tea hoping that will help.

He walks through the house, taking the long way to the kitchen and after making his tea he decides he'd like something a bit stronger, a bit more comforting, so he heads to the bar and pours himself a glass of bourbon instead.

The moonlight shining in through the sliding glass door catches his periphery and he looks to it, wanting to be on the other side and suddenly the thought occurs to him that nothing is stopping him.

Once outside, he walks over to the pool and crouches down next to it, staring at the water, calm and still. What it must be like to feel such peace just in existing. He's tempted to reach out, to touch something Alex had been touching, something that supported him, that gave him purpose in the night, that surrounded him. After resisting the urge as long as he can, he indulges his desire, cool to the touch and so refreshing; so soothing.

 _v._

Sometimes Mike feels like he's stuck in a time loop when it comes to his weekly dinner dates with Maryse. He's always loved going out to eat, but over the last couple of months it just seems so frivolous, so monotonous; like he should be spending his time somewhere else.

But he can't because this is the life he chose.

Week after week, he's subjected to endless meanderings of irrelevant real estate drama and elaborate descriptions of the luxury houses Maryse shows to clients; all the ways she'd like to remodel their own home; the latest developments on her favorite reality shows, which lie on the opposite side of the spectrum as his favorite reality shows; the gossip she heard at the hair salon and gossip she heard at the nail salon and details about her latest photo shoot. Once in a while she'll remind Mike about a premiere or event they'll be attending and how she'll need the Black Card to buy a new pair of red-soled heels to go with a new designer dress.

"Can't you just wear something you already own?"

Maryse stares vapidly. "Mike," she says with an added scoff. "Don't be stupid. They'll crucify me if I wear the same thing twice…"

 _They?_ Mike can't help but sneer as his wife lectures him on the dos and don'ts of Hollywood etiquette, but then his attention drifts past her to a couple of men sitting across from each other a few tables away. The light seems far brighter over there, shining on them like they're glowing. He doesn't mean to stare but they look so happy and _free_ in their own little bubble, worlds away from the world he's living in.

Though he can't hear what they're talking about, their conversation seems to flow with such ease. He can tell they enjoy each other's company and must share many of the same interests. But even when they disagree about certain issues, whether it's the big stuff like politics and religion, or their inconsequential stances on sports and entertainment, he's sure they each listen to the other, genuinely interested in his views and opinions, wanting to learn, not afraid to be persuaded, not afraid to show tolerance and understanding. Sometimes heated debates ensue, but that only adds to their attraction. And it never turns violent or ugly or resentful. They never argue about what to listen to on the radio because just being together is what matters. They're not annoyed by each other's ticks and quarks even though they've been together for years. In fact, those little things are what draw the other in.

Mike swoons in spite of himself. Why should they seem so familiar, like he knows them, like he's seen them before? A deep ache pierces his chest when one of the men reaches his foot out to touch his partner's foot. He instinctively knows it was neither an accident nor an attempt to tease or flirt. He just wanted to touch him; to be near him; to feel him. To let his lover know he's there. And that, more than anything else is the most familiar thing of all.

Only having eyes for each other, they hardly notice when the server brings out a single slice of what looks like double-layered chocolate cake with two forks and places it in the center of their table, but when they do notice, they smile.

He smiles.

"You understand now why I need the Black Card?"

And there goes his smile. Reluctantly, he looks at Maryse realizing he hadn't heard a single word of her exposition. But it's not worth it. He nods and then glances back over to the other table.

 _xxxx_

The main topic of discussion on this particular date night, however, is the trip Maryse is taking to visit her family. She'll be gone a whole week, but it has no bearing on Mike. He'll be out of town even longer.

After a sensible meal, he reads over the dessert menu while waiting for the bill.

"Would you like dessert, sir?"

"Well…"

Maryse tilts her phone towards herself. "I don't think we have time, Mike. We should go."

"How fast can you bring out the cannoli?"

The waiter side-eyes Maryse as he answers Mike. "It shouldn't take longer than five minutes."

"And there's three of them?"

"You bet."

"Okay. I'll take that…to go."

Maryse waits for the waiter to leave the vicinity before addressing Mike. "What's wrong with you? You know we need to get to the airport. We'll be waiting out there forever for the valet. Everyone's going to see you holding a stupid box. Since when do you eat cannoli anyway?"

"Relax," Mike says, overtly rolling his eyes. "It'll only take a couple minutes."

Maryse watches her husband for a long stretch, the wheels of suspicion spinning madly in her head. "Who's the cannoli for?"

Mike huffs, his cheeks growing warm.

"Please tell me you did not order them for him."

Mike purses his lips.

"Are you kidding me?! Why are you doing this again?"

The words are all right there, flickering like lightning under the surface, but Mike can't bring himself to deploy a single syllable.

Maryse shakes her head in complete dismay; throws her napkin to the table as she pushes her chair out. "I'm going to go freshen up."

The draft of the woman whooshes past Mike. He closes his eyes, bringing his elbow to the table and slumps his head into his hand. He's so frustrated with himself that if he was in the privacy of his own home he'd shed a tear and most likely more than that. No matter how he feels about Maryse, he knows what he's doing to her isn't fair, but he can't stop.

He doesn't want to stop.

 _vi._

A dull thunder rolls through the cloud-covered sky just as Mike pulls up in a line of cars waiting in the drop-off area outside the airport.

"My flight better not be cancelled," Maryse says, checking her phone for any updates.

"At least we got here on time."

Maryse glowers at her husband.

"Look, if it's cancelled, just give me a call and I'll come pick you up."

"I thought you'd be happy. Me out of the house."

"What do you mean?"

Maryse is quiet for a moment, unsure if Mike is just naïve or one hell of a liar. "One night."

"What?"

"You can have one night with him. Talk to him. Say goodbye. Get closure. I know you never got that. Finish this so we can get back to our life together."

"Is this about the cannoli? Because it's just–"

"You know it's not just that. It's everything. The way you look at him, the way you look when you're thinking about him. Asking him to move in with us. You're here with me, but you're never here. You're with him! You're always with him. Just do what you have to do to get him out of your system once and for all."

Headlights in the rearview mirror shine in Mike's eyes. He winces. The flash of light triggers a memory of a similar flash. The flash from the paparazzi cameras outside the restaurant earlier. He blinks hard. "Why would you want that?"

Maryse says something in French under her breath and Mike can tell by her delivery that whatever it is can't be good.

"Maryse!"

"Of course I don't want that," she says, shifting her whole body to face him. "But I'm not stupid! And this needs to end!"

There's the paparazzi again, standing near the valet station in a horde, snapping away, scrutinizing his every move.

"Hey, Miz!"

Mike looks over his shoulder. It's a familiar face from TMZ.

"Look everyone, it's the King of Carry-out!"

"Oh, good one. Did you come up with that all by yourself?"

"The Titan of Takeout."

"No, go ahead. Keep going."

"The Leader of Leftovers."

" _The Leader of Leftovers_? Really?! Is that the best you can do?"

"The Sultan of…"

"You better hurry up. My car's almost here."

"Well, what's in the box?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Ah, the Sultan of Secrets!"

Another flash of light bounces off Mike's mirror and hits him in the eyes. He squeezes the bridge of his nose wanting these intrusive thoughts to go away. But they persist. _The Sultan of Secrets._ Yeah, that sounds just about right. He can't imagine what would be written about him if they knew what was in that carry-out box and who it was for; if they found out he was bringing dessert home for another man… a man who's been living with him, or worse, what they would've done if he had taken Alex out to eat rather than Maryse. He can see the headline now: The Duke of Deception. And that's the least of his problems because it's not just the tabloids he worries about, it's the company he works for.

"It ended a long time ago," he says. "It's over. I just wanted to do something nice for my friend. He doesn't know anyone out here and he's only working one day a week. It's nothing!"

Mike looks ahead to the gap that's formed and pulls up closer to the entrance. "Call me if something changes," he says as Maryse is opening the door. "Hey," he adds, grabbing her hand and looking into her eyes. "It's nothing."

It's not nothing and Mike knows it. If it was nothing, he'd casually tell Alex there's a box of cannoli in the fridge when he tells him about his plans for the upcoming week. If it was nothing, he wouldn't have ordered the damned things in the first place. But none of that matters anymore and when he gets home, he stands in his kitchen, opens the carry-out box and stares at the cannoli and all the promise they held.

"Fuck," he whispers with great disappointment and then takes a bite out of one. He scowls, chomping obscenely, can't even enjoy it, but finishes it anyway. He places the rest on the top shelf of the refrigerator and takes a moment to silently mourn whatever it was he deluded himself into thinking could've been.

Needing to still inform Alex about his schedule, he opts to tell him in person rather than sending him a text. Why? As much as he hates to admit it, maybe Maryse is right about needing closure. He'll tell him what he needs to say, but beneath his words he'll be saying goodbye and that'll be that.

Wanting to get it over with, he heads upstairs to the guest room, but the man isn't there. He searches the empty house then decides to check outside, finally spotting him floating in the pool. He shakes his head, agitated by his forgetfulness. Of course he's in the pool.

"Alex," he calls half-heartedly from the second floor. Forcing out the man's name seems to take more out of him than he could have known and he feels rather nauseated because of it.

No response. He tries again, making more of an effort this time as he descends the stone staircase, but Alex still doesn't respond.

Mike's throat constricts, or is it swelling? It's a painful throbbing that attacks him suddenly, his neck feeling like it could explode. He picks up the pace, skipping over steps. Could easily trip, but he's not thinking about himself.

Alex isn't moving. Why doesn't he hear him? Is he breathing? Mike's insides twist so tight it feels like he could double over and he does. Falls right to his knees at the edge of the pool. " _Kevin!_ "

All at once, Alex loses buoyancy and slips under water. In the few seconds before he resurfaces, Mike heaves out a breath, his body collapsing, his eyes rolling in an exaggerated fashion. "Thank God," he says, tucking his head down, chin to chest.

When Alex sees that Mike's the one at the edge of the pool, waiting in a crouching position, he swims over to him; a graceful breaststroke.

It's almost too beautiful a sight when Alex's face emerges from beneath the surface. His eyes are still closed as he brings his hand to his face and Mike feels like he could liquefy. Spill into the pool and Alex could swim in him for all eternity. What a ridiculous thought. But then Alex slicks his hair back and finally gazes up to Mike.

Yeah, liquid.

The stark combination of concern and relief doesn't go unnoticed by Alex. One glimpse of the man and he knows. This has to be a good sign. Focused squarely on Mike's reaction rather than what caused the reaction, he can't help but be flattered by the thought, blushing immediately, those dimples more prominent than ever. "Were you worried about me?"

"It's not funny."

"Were you about to jump in and save me?" Alex reaches out to touch Mike, but Mike is quick to swat his dripping hand away.

"Stop it," he barks, wanting his anger to mask his nerves. Despite his wishes for his hand to stop shaking, it continues to tremble. "You'll get it wet."

"It's just water." Alex reaches out again, this time successfully running his fingers down Mike's lapel. "And these are just clothes. And I seemed to be worth it a minute ago."

The hardened exterior plastering Mike's face shatters. He can't help it. He almost did jump in. He reaches out and runs his hand through Alex's hair, cradling the back of his head.

Alex reaches up and gently pulls the guy closer to him by his tie. Mike instinctively parts his lips in anticipation of a kiss, but he's suddenly tugged into the pool instead. A panic sets in. His clothes are too heavy, too awkward. He splashes around, flailing his arms and manages to grab onto a solid support.

"Mike, Mike, I got you."

After a struggle that lasts much longer in Mike's mind than in actuality, he surrenders, putting his trust in that support.

"I got you," Alex says softly as he treads water for the both of them.

Mike coughs and when he looks to Alex, he loses himself in his eyes. So many memories. His gaze naturally wanders to his lips.

"Weren't you on the swim team?"

Mike looks up to Alex and then laughs in spite of himself, feeling rather foolish for making such a spectacle. His chin dips into the water, his focus falling in line with the hand he's resting on Alex's right shoulder. Something's missing. "Shit, my ring!" he says, starting to splash about again, not knowing if it slipped off in the pool or if he lost it earlier in the night. In his mind it could be anywhere.

"I'm sure it's here, Mike. Don't worry, I'll find it."

With Mike still tangled up in his clothes, Alex helps him to the wall and then dives down to the bottom.

His search lasts no longer than a minute, only has to come up for air twice and then he climbs out, his swimsuit clinging to him in all the right places. Mike, soaking wet and waiting in a puddle of his own making, pretends not to notice but he's flustered in the man's presence; always has been.

"See," Alex says, pinching the ring between two fingers. "It's right here."

Mike breathes a sigh of relief, looking up to Alex through his lashes. But then Alex reaches for his left hand and just as he's about to slide the ring back on, Mike yanks his hand away, snatches the ring, and storms inside.

 _vii._

After a quick shower, Alex sits on his bed thinking about his encounter with Mike. That wasn't how he wanted their next conversation to play out. He definitely didn't want it to end with Mike walking away with resentment screaming in his eyes, though he certainly can't blame him.

With an exasperated sigh, he picks up his phone and pulls up the only picture he has of the two of them that isn't related to the show. They're on the beach with a few friends, but his mind's eye manages to block the others out. What he can't block out, however, is what the picture reminds him of.

The image is tantamount to a dog-ear permanently folded in the story of his life. It instantly flips him back to Mike's wedding, whisking him away to that tropical island as if he's there, reliving it all over again.

It's a late afternoon in the third week of February. Clear skies. A refreshing breeze carrying the salty scent of the Atlantic Ocean. A woman in an extravagant white gown. And a man. The most gorgeous man he's ever seen.

For the ceremony, he sits on the groom's side amongst friends and family, wondering which category he falls under. His heart pounds like a wind gong; each beat reverberating through his entire being as the bride stands at the altar with _his_ groom. A lump forms in the base of his throat. His chest tightens, his belly aches. He can hardly breathe. He looks around. Is anyone sweating the way he is? No. It's just him. He grips his chair, clings to it because he's afraid he'll pop right up out of it if he doesn't. But then the Officiant all but dares him to.

The words are branded on his brain as if he hadn't already heard the phrase in a million movies and TV shows. No. It's brand new. It's being said for the first time. For him. To him and only him. _Speak now or forever hold your peace._

He squeezes tight, his knuckles turning white, his knee bouncing. He could sprint up to the altar in a flash if he were to let go. His jaw starts to quiver, wanting to open, wanting to object to this farce. He clamps down on the inside of his lip. He mustn't speak. His eyes well up. He forces himself not to blink. Everyone will see. They can't see. They can never see.

Every time without fail, the second he remembers that cowardice, his memory thrusts him forward in time to the reception. He couldn't bear to listen to the vows or watch the kiss anyway. It was hard enough the first time. Might as well rip those pages out.

The reception. He sits at one of the many round tables surrounding the dance floor and watches Mike share his first dance with his bride. Everyone around him is so happy for the newlyweds, he has no choice but to smile through the pain. Part of him wonders how many of those smiling people, of Mike's family members and childhood friends, would have been as equally supportive if it had been him up there with Mike instead. Needless to say, this doesn't improve his mood.

Solid black bars where the dance took place. A much appreciated redactment he made months ago.

He stands in a corner with a few friends from work, the ones in the picture. There's a new song playing now, one that invites everyone else to dance. Longingly, he looks over to Mike and Mike gives an inconspicuous tilt of his head, signaling him to follow. And of course he does.

The farther he gets from the reception hall and the closer he gets to Mike, he feels his defenses melting away. No need to pretend he's happy anymore. By the time he enters the storage closet where Mike is waiting for him, he feels like his body could crumble.

He closes the door. Here it comes, this tsunami of sorrow barreling towards him.

Mike meets him halfway and wraps his arms around him. "Dance with me," he whispers.

As soon as the two men start moving, all the emotions Alex had been bottling up come gushing out. He brings his dominant hand up and covers his face as he begins to weep.

Mike holds the back of Alex's head, wanting to comfort him, wanting to comfort himself. "I couldn't have gotten through that if you weren't here."

Alex takes Mike's face in his hands and kisses him as if it's their last kiss, because he knows it will be.

Having to break away is unbearable, but he forces himself to. He presses his forehead against Mike's and allows himself one more moment to feel what it's like to be close to the man so he'll never forget and then he speaks.

"I can't do this anymore."

A fireball of fear and betrayal and devastation streaks across Mike's eyes. _"No."_

Alex grabs Mike's hand, squeezing his wedding band between his fingers and shakes it at eye level as if the guy needs a visual reminder of what just happened. "You're married!"

"No. We talked about this–"

"Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to _sit there_ and watch you exchange vows with her?!"

Mike yanks his hand away. "That wasn't easy for me either, you know!"

"I'm sorry, but this is too much." Alex makes a beeline for the door knowing all too well that Mike won't be able to follow out of fear of being spotted. All it would take is one person wandering the halls in the wrong place at the wrong time. No, he'd never risk that.

The last thing Alex thinks about when he looks at the picture on the beach is the sound of Mike's voice as he pleaded with him through a guttural sob not to go. It's more painful than the vows, the kiss and the dance combined, yet it's something he can never forget, never skip over, never redact. It was only one word reiterated over and over again, perhaps because it was too hard to form any other words. " _No, no, no, no, no…"_ interrupted by a helpless hitch in his breath when the door opened; the outside world his muzzle.

Alex has looked at the picture every night since then trying to figure out why he would do something so cruel to the man he loves. Only within the last few days has he finally come to terms with his–

There's a knock at the door. He quickly locks his phone and sets it on the nightstand. "Come in."

He exhales sharply when Mike peeks his head in. He's never come to his room before.

"Sorry to bother you."

"You're not. What's up?"

"Listen, the reason I was looking for you earlier was to tell you I have an early flight in the morning."

"Must be Friday," Alex says with a charming smirk.

"Yeah," Mike chuckles. "But also, you'll have the house to yourself next week. Maryse is visiting her family, I'd just got back from dropping her off at the airport, and I'll be leaving on tour after the TVs."

"Oh." Alex's smile has long since faded. He had forgotten all about the Malaysian tour. And he should have known Mike wouldn't come to his room just to tell him he was leaving in the morning. That's nothing new; he starts his work week every Friday morning. He, himself, used to be on the same schedule. But even after delivering the message, the man doesn't budge. He's just standing there, staring pensively. "Is there something else?"

"I, um…" Mike hesitates and then opens the door wide, revealing a styrofoam container he'd been concealing behind his back. "I brought this home for you." He closes the door, walks over to the bed and sits on the edge, Alex having to shift his legs towards the center a bit to accommodate him. "It's not much," he says with a shrug and hands the box over. "Just a couple cannoli."

Alex opens the box, grinning even before he sees the dessert. "Chocolate chip!" He looks up to Mike with a smile shining in his eyes. "My favorite."

"I know."

"So, does this mean you're not still mad at me?"

"About the pool?"

Alex swallows thickly. "About anything."

Mike takes a deep breath and releases it along with Alex's name.

Is he annoyed? Is he sad? Is he about to say he's moved on? Alex doesn't know how to interpret this and he's afraid to ask. He places the dessert next to his phone and turns to face Mike again. "Did I ever tell you when I was in high school I had a cousin who came out?"

That was unexpected. Mike just shakes his head, wide-eyed and curious.

"He was a bit older than me, I think he was already out of college at that time, and I remember it being a really big deal. My dad talked about it like the kid had just thrown his life away. Said it was a good thing he didn't play sports because the locker room is no place for faggots."

Alex cocks his jaw, grimaces at having to use that word.

"And my mom said she'd pray for his soul. She actually said that." He can't help but laugh in disbelief.

Mike frowns.

"It's been so long now that I don't remember if I knew I liked guys at that point, but after that I made damned sure it never crossed my mind. I pretty much buried myself in sports anyway. Kept myself busy and any girlfriend I did have, which weren't very many, didn't last longer than it needed to. Just enough to keep everyone off my back. My folks, guys at college. It's much easier to say you have a girlfriend than it is to say you're not interested. And of course you can't just say it. They need to meet her and see you with her…

"I put everything I had into football. I had this fantasy I'd be drafted. I honestly thought it was going to happen. And I remember thinking how proud he was going to be of me."

"Your dad?"

"He's the main reason I started playing in the first place. Of course he didn't want me to, but he was my hero. I wanted to be just like him. But year after year it never happened. And soon everyone around me was graduating and finding real jobs and starting families. I know I disappointed him. All that potential, all that time and money, it was all wasted. And for what? So I could end up selling medical devices?

"A couple years later I found out some of the guys I knew from college had started wrestling and I remembered how much fun we had when I was a kid, and me and my brother and my dad would watch the show together. And I figured that's what I'd do. I had the talent, the connections, the time. The look. I was going to be a champ."

Alex pauses, looking down to his lap, remembering the naïve optimism he was once filled with.

"I made a few calls and got to try out and when they invited me to train I thought I finally found the path I was searching for. It made so much sense to me. I could accept failing at football because that was just a stepping stone to where I was really supposed to be. But I was wrong." He looks up to Mike with a soft smile that, at first, seems out of place. "As much as I enjoyed it, it turns out it was never about wrestling. It was about finding _you_." An image of the first time he saw Mike appears before him and his eyes glaze over. "I never stood a chance. You unlocked something in me that I had hidden away. But I also remembered my cousin. My folks wouldn't even go to his wedding."

Alex takes a deep, controlled breath, calling on God for strength for what he needs to say next.

"The reason I'm telling you all this is because when you got married, I saw an out." The admission causes him to look down in shame. "Wrestling was going nowhere and I couldn't bear to disappoint my dad any more than I already had. It took all this time, but I finally realized I had only disappointed myself. And you." Alex pauses for a moment, allowing Mike time to absorb this truth, allowing himself a chance to mull over his next words before he says them. They're too important not to. "I called him yesterday... My dad. I told him."

Mike's jaw slackens. He's overcome with what appears to be hope and awe. "You did? What'd he say?"

"That he suspected it for a while."

"Really?"

"I guess it's been a while since I had a girlfriend," Alex says with a chuckle.

Mike lets out an airy laugh and then asks if his dad said anything else.

"That he loves me just the same."

"He said that?" Mike's eyes start to water as he desperately searches Alex's for confirmation.

"I think we underestimate our parents' love sometimes."

Mike looks away, getting lost in his own thoughts, and then, "So, he wasn't disappointed?"

Alex shrugs. "I'm sure he was at first and maybe he still is, but he assured me it was only because he's worried I won't be able to achieve my dreams. But I told him I have different dreams now. And get this. He asked me if I'm living with you because we're together."

"He did?"

"I told him what happened, which was weird and unbelievably liberating, and he wished me luck with you. Is that not the craziest thing you ever heard?"

"Why's that crazy?"

Alex thinks back to the way Mike behaved by the pool earlier; the way he pulled away from him. "Because you're married," he says sadly.

Mike drops his gaze.

"Y'know, when I first got here, it was hard to sleep. Especially those nights you were here. Especially the nights you went out with her. That pool was my saving grace. I'd swim until my muscles felt like they were on fire and then I'd swim some more. Being so close to you and seeing the life I could be living…

"I want you to know how sorry I am. I gave you a false sense of security. It wasn't my intention, but I took advantage of your trust in the worst way. I know that now. I thought if you married her it would keep us safe. But that was selfish of me and we deserve better than that. Hell, even Maryse deserves better than that. And I had no idea how it would be to watch you pledge your life and your love to someone else. I should've known, but I didn't. Even though it wasn't real, it gutted me. Because all those people thought it was real and Maryse thought it was real. All at once it felt like I had lost everything and I panicked. And I didn't want to lose my family, too. And even if you never forgive me or never want to be with me again, I need you to know that I still love you. I never stopped. I never will."

Mike nibbles on his bottom lip, visibly affected, but doesn't speak.

The absence of words, of reciprocation, of the declaration Mike never withheld in the past, makes Alex's chest ache. He never knew silence could be so frightening. He's teetering on the edge of a cliff. One flinch in the wrong direction and it's all over. But something pulls him back from that abyss of nothingness.

Needing to make sure his mind isn't playing tricks on him, he looks down. Mike's hand is resting on top of his own, just as he thought. He's mesmerized by the simple gesture and then finds himself fixated on Mike's ring. This tiny, shiny piece of metal that binds his life to another. He always imagined it being there, but never like this. "What if we could have one night?"

Mike suddenly recoils, pulling his hand away _again_. "Have you been talking to Maryse?"

"No. Why?" Alex waits for an answer, but Mike only sits there prodding his tongue through his cheek. "Mike, you know she doesn't talk to me. What is it?"

"She told me, if I wanted to, I could be with you tonight."

"Why would she…"

"For closure."

Oh, the weight of that word. That's certainly not a word Alex wants to hear when it comes to Mike.

"But I told her I wouldn't."

"But you're here now," Alex says cautiously. "With dessert."

Mike nods, his breaths becoming shallow.

"Why?"

"I… When you didn't answer me in the pool," Mike says, his voice trembling, "and you were just floating there, lifeless, I thought I could die. I've never been so scared in my life. I couldn't stop thinking about that."

"You bought the cannoli before that."

Mike nods, barely, and with that, Alex reaches over and gathers the man's hand, sandwiching it between his own; wanting to reclaim it. For closure or not, it doesn't matter, just as long as he can be with him while he's allowed to. "What if we _could_ have one night? And pretend this is our house?"

Mike sighs, the corner of his mouth turning upwards into a lazy smile. "We'd never live in a house like this."

"We already are."

Mike catches his breath and after a long moment of consideration, he removes his hand from a reluctant grip and gets up. Alex watches, frantic on the inside thinking he blew it, that he pushed too hard, but Mike doesn't walk to the door. Instead, he takes a few steps over to the nightstand, places his ring on it and turns to face him. "Dance with me," he says, extending a hand.

A sweeping heat rushes over Alex's body. His heart is racing. The vein in his neck is thrumming with a painful intensity, a kind of pain he's grateful to know again. He accepts Mike's request and stands to his feet. Even if Mike was a vengeful man who only wanted to dance with him to leave him broken and alone in the way he left him in that storage closet, Alex would still take his hand and stand to his feet. Every single time.

Mike moves in close, vengeance being the furthest thing from his mind. He slides his hands up Alex's chest, over his shoulders and finally does what he wished he could've done in the pool and wraps his arms around the guy. They move their feet as if they're listening to the same song; a song they composed long before they were born.

They feel each other's warmth, breathing each other in, allowing the mixture of their scents to ignite a memory-fuse.

A passion-fuse.

Being in his arms again, it overwhelms. Mike can barely focus on moving his feet, just wants to hold the man and Alex can feel it. He tilts his head slightly, opening his neck up to Mike; _for_ Mike; wanting so badly for him to bury his face there; to feel his breath against his skin and the comfort it would bring.

There it is. Hot, thick, uneven. He can hear a quivering as the man feathers his lips across his neck and up to his cheek.

"One night," Mike whispers.

That quivering is contagious. Never have two words been arranged and delivered in a more wondrous way. The thought is reflected in Alex's eyes as he brings his hands up to hold Mike's face. He swipes his thumbs over satin-stained cheeks, warm with desire, and then over his parted lips, taking the moment to admire the expression on his face, the glint of urgency in his eyes, and then leans in.

Mike's lips brush past Alex's wanting so badly to connect, but hardly believing he's about to and he whimpers. The cry in his voice is a desperate plea that only Alex can fulfill and he doesn't hesitate a second longer.

Their lips meet; puzzle piece to matching puzzle piece. Their tongues engage, slipping past one another; pressing against one another. And it's slow. Succulent. Revitalizing. It's a conversation that could never be had with words and yet their voices can still be heard.

The roughness of Alex's face is something Mike has never felt before, not to this extent. The guy never grew his beard out when they were together, but he likes the way it feels, scraping against his own unshaven face. Abrasive and real. He slips his hands up under Alex's shirt, needing to feel more of him; his fingers meeting the warm, smooth skin he thought he'd never feel again and that sets off a frenzy of touching and clutching. His body thirsts for him, hungers for him, yearns to feel every inch of him.

With feverish intent he removes Alex's shirt and then his own. Their chests collide and the contact is hardly enough, so they finish undressing each other until they're completely free of all restraints and boundaries.

Memories of their secret life together flood Mike's every thought. Their first kiss, the first time they made love, the first time he cried in front of Alex, the first time Alex professed his love for him. The laughs they shared, the plans they made. The hours he'd spend curled up in his arms listening to his healing heartbeat. Every emotion he's ever felt condenses into a roiling heat that localizes in one spot, meant for one person. He guides Alex to the bed, opening his thighs, letting him settle between them.

"Oh, God," Alex breathes, cradling Mike's head in his hands. "I'm so sorry I took this away from us."

Mike shakes his head, wavering from royal blue to royal blue then captures Alex's swollen lips in another kiss. Sprawls his hands across the man's back and down to his second favorite spot on his lover's body. He grabs at the soft flesh, kneading him, pulling the guy towards him, against him. It's his way of directing and Alex knows exactly what he's clamoring for.

As reluctant as he is eager, he breaks away from their kiss and reaches for the top drawer of the nightstand to something he feared he'd never need again. The only reason he still has it is because it's too expensive to throw away. Maybe that's not the only reason. Aside from an old t-shirt, a picture, and a beat up red briefcase, it's the only other thing he has left from the time he spent with Mike.

"You're doing that on purpose," Mike moans.

"What am I doing?"

Mike continues suckling and nipping anywhere his mouth has access to. Collarbone, shoulder, bicep. Anything that tastes like Alex will do. "You're stalling," he says, panting impatiently.

And he's right. The level of his desire is intoxicating. Encouraging. Alex just needed a moment to soak it all in. Stalling, but more accurately, appreciating. Though he could very well stay in this position until Mike's marked his entire left side, he doesn't want to keep him waiting, so he rolls over to the opposite side of the man, propping himself up by an elbow. Mike turns into him, sucking on his neck and slowly stroking him with a seasoned grip.

The next time Mike feels Alex touch him, his fingertips are wet and slippery and they're in between his legs. He falls back, his shoulders flush against the mattress. His eyelids flutter as Alex caresses him and presses into him.

"Does she give you what you really need?" Alex uses two fingers now and Mike's layers of answers come in the form of a dissatisfied moan; not because he doesn't like what Alex is doing, but because it's been too long since he's felt it. And no, of course she doesn't. And no, let's not talk about her right now.

Alex snakes an arm under Mike's neck and Mike automatically pivots towards Alex again, his body drawn in by the warmth and the promise that awaits him there. He hikes his left leg up over Alex's hip; a welcoming invitation, indeed. Alex shifts his busy hand from his partner to himself and with an adequate slathering and a little guidance, presses into Mike again, and not with his fingers.

The intimate ease of it all is met with groans of pleasure and relief. Alex gropes Mike's thigh and his ass, holding him as they rock their bodies closer and closer to one another.

Directing his weight forward, he rolls Mike onto his back. Feels the man cling to him, encircling him with his arms and legs, their bodies bound as one, moving as one. It's fluid. And familiar. And not just because they've done this before.

They stare into each other's eyes, captives of their rhythm, and then Alex leans down to Mike's neck, kisses him there, suckles on his skin, bathing himself in the whimpers of ecstasy that have haunted his dreams for far too long. He laves his tongue up to Mike's jaw and kisses his cheek then hovers near his ear so close Mike can feel the dense texture of his hot breath. "My whole soul," he vows with aching sincerity.

A shiver shoots through Mike's body; a quake; a shudder; a gasp. His eyes are glued to the ceiling, unable to blink, unable to think. He's never experienced a more powerful moment in his life. A single tear rolls down his temple, though he's so caught up in the moment, he doesn't notice, but Alex does. He feels it puddle beneath his thumb and then sees the emotion flooding Mike's eyes. There's only one way he knows how to respond. He kisses him fully and reaches down between their bellies, taking hold of his lover.

The spark they lit accelerates down the fuse, faster and faster with each given second, with each stroke-set until it finally smashes into inevitability. Mike's body contorts in a way he has no control over; his back arched, his toes splayed, and he lets out a bellow that's instantly harmonized with another.

It's a moment of absolute perfection. A moment Alex relives and foresees thousands of times over in the span of a single breath. A moment of aeonian peace that can never be recreated with anyone else. It's only for them. It _is_ them. Their essence. Their soul chemistry bursting from within. It's honesty and truth; a blessing from on high.

He's actually given it great thought, wondering how it's even possible. How a feeling like this can even exist. How he's been given a way to express his love for the one he loves and make him feel good and wanted and needed in a way no one else ever will. How his body was made to fit with his and work in tandem to create magic. Pure magic that transcends time and space and delivers him into a dimension of divinity he will only wholly attain when his soul departs his body. As long as he lives, nothing will ever convince him what he and Mike share is common nor will he ever reduce it to happenstance.

Slowly drifting back into the realm of the living, he satiates himself with one more kiss and then collapses against Mike's slick chest. "You're my forever lover," he says through ragged breath.

Mike can't help but smile as he replays Alex's words in his mind. "Wait. I'm your _forever_? Or your _forever-lover_?"

Alex laughs, trying to decipher his own meaning. "Both," he decides.

Mike kisses Alex's dampened forehead and runs his fingers through his disheveled hair for a few minutes, lingering in blissful recovery. When his heart rate returns to a normal pace and his breathing has evened out, he rolls to the side of the bed and opens the top drawer of the nightstand. It's empty. "You always used to keep baby wipes next to your bed."

"Sure, back when I actually needed them."

Mike turns to face Alex. "You're telling me when you came to live here you didn't think this would eventually happen?"

"To allow myself that kind of hope would've been too cruel. So, no. Not once."

Mike's gaze falters as he remembers his devastation in the kitchen earlier. Cruel would have been kind. He leans in and presses his lips to Alex's. "I'll be right back," he whispers, excusing himself to the bathroom.

After a thorough wipe down, he returns to bed, tossing a moistened washcloth to Alex and then grabbing the box of cannoli. As he's propping himself up against the headboard with a couple of pillows, Alex quickly wipes himself off and then flings the washcloth onto the pile of clothes on the ground. He doesn't sit up, but he scoots in close and is presented with one of the cigar-shaped pastries.

Mike holds the cannoli up to Alex's lips, smirking at the obvious innuendo and Alex takes a big bite, giggling as the cream oozes out onto the sides of his mouth.

"Does that taste good?!" Mike asks with a laugh of his own. Alex nods enthusiastically as he chews and Mike can't help but lean over and lick the sugary cream from his lips. He hums with satisfaction; it tastes so much better than it did earlier, as if God himself had made it. He feeds the guy some more and then finishes what's left of it. The last one is just for Alex, though, and he enjoys watching the man savor each bite. He places the empty box next to the lamp, then shifts his attention back to his lover. "My turn for a story."

Alex's eyes light up, anxious to hear it, anxious to hear more of Mike's voice; swears he can never get enough. Still busy with the last morsel, he hums his approval.

Mike brings his shoulder up to his chin as he admires Alex's charming disposition and then faces forward, taking the few extra seconds to collect his thoughts. He knows what he wants to say, just not so much how to say it. Figures he might as well just jump right in.

"When I was growing up, my friends would always come over to my dad's house and we'd watch wrestling and goof around for hours acting out the matches and cutting the most ridiculous promos and that went on for years.

"But then there came a point where wrestling wasn't enough for them. And I didn't understand why because it was still enough for me. Rather than talking about the movesets and the storylines, they started talking about the women and about the girls at school. And whenever they'd say something lewd, and especially when they started talking about the things they wanted to do with girls, I thought they were all exaggerating, just emulating what we saw in movies, trying to be cool and fit in.

"I always assumed it was my upbringing. My mom raised me not to talk disrespectfully about girls. But that wasn't it. Not really. I never knew the way I felt about girls was different from the way they felt about girls. I thought we were all the same, but we weren't. I guess it was growing up in a small town. Everyone was pretty set in their ways. You go to college, you get a job, get married, have kids. That's what everyone did. That's all I knew there was. I never questioned it because I didn't know I could. It didn't really help being an only child. And my folks never seemed open-minded. She was pretty religious and he… Shit, I don't know. There were just certain things I knew he wouldn't approve of. Neither of them would. There's no way he'd be as understanding as your dad.

"When I was in college, though, there was this itch inside me to get out of there. And by some miracle, I actually managed to. It wasn't until I went to New York, until I was in the _real world_ , that _my_ _world_ finally opened up. There was so much that I learned about everything and about myself. And I felt at peace with myself for the first time in my life. Finally having an explanation for why I always felt like the odd man out. Why I always felt a little different. By the time I finally realized I was… gay…" Mike sucks in a deep breath. "Fuck. I don't think I've ever actually said that out loud."

Alex laces his fingers through Mike's and nuzzles his cheek to the guy's shoulder.

"I also realized that I didn't just like wrestling, I loved it. It was my greatest passion, not just as a fan, but what I wanted to do in life. And that's when I knew I had to make a choice. I couldn't have both. I may've been naïve about certain things, but I sure as hell wasn't stupid. I never would've been able to do the things I've done if I had come out. I'd be flipping burgers in Parma right now."

The unfairness of it all causes Mike to well up. He looks to the ceiling, blinking back the tears.

"I was, what, twenty? Who needs someone at that age anyway? I didn't need that in my life, clouding my vision, getting in my way, causing a rift with my folks. They were already pissed enough that I dropped out of college to go on a reality show.

"And I'd been with girls. It wasn't bad or anything, so I went back to that, because I knew I had to. I had to reinforce a certain image, at least until it was well enough established. TV helped with that. And it wasn't anything I really thought of anyway. Wrestling was what I thought of. Every second of the day, that was what I was working towards. And there was always that next rung to reach. So I kept climbing.

"But then, something happened. I sure as hell wasn't looking for it. It just happened one day. It was 2008, the day after Valentine's Day. I remember because my mom called me the day before and got on my case about being single. It wasn't enough that I was Tag Champs with Morrison at that point. No, sir.

"I'm wrestling, Mom, I don't have time for a girlfriend," he says, impersonating his younger self. "Anyway, I had a match at the Florida State Fair, it was mostly guys from developmental so I guess they needed a little star-power, and there was this guy. I never saw him before, but he was… beautiful."

He glances to Alex and notices a trace of jealousy in the man's eyes.

"I never let myself look at a man like that before. Not since New York. Hell, even in New York I never looked at anyone like that. There was just something about him that I was drawn to. I wanted to be near him. To know him. And he was always smiling. That whole day. You could tell he was really having fun. And his body…"

Mike licks his lips, biting the bottom one for a split second.

"He wore traditional gear, and– Of course, he didn't notice me. I looked ridiculous back then, in that fedora and those shorts." Mike rolls his eyes, chuckling and then turns a bit serious, somberly looking down as he remembers what happened next.

"A week later, I asked her out. I didn't let myself think about him after that. Chances were he'd fizzle out, like the majority of guys in developmental do, and I'd never see him again anyway.

"But as luck would have it, if it was even luck at all, he showed up at Raw for some dark matches about a year and a half later and when I saw him, I fuckin' swear to God it was like being born again. The strangest feeling came over me, it was that itch again, and I wanted him to notice me. As far-fetched as it was, I felt like I had to try. I needed to. So, I ditched the shorts and started wearing trunks. Not because I thought I had to be _naked_ to get his attention, but I wanted to be taken more seriously and be seen in the same way I saw him.

"The next time he was there for a dark match, he came up to me in the locker room, which wasn't something guys from FCW ever did, I don't even know why he was allowed in there to be honest, and he said, ' _I like the new look_.'" Mike smiles fondly, remembering how happy those five words made him. "And that was enough."

Alex rests his chin on Mike's shoulder, the bridge of his nose burning as tears form in his eyes. He hadn't made the connection at the start, but now he realizes his own memories align perfectly with Mike's. "I _did_ like your new look."

Mike heaves out a heavy sigh and leans his head against Alex.

"I wish I had let myself _see_ you sooner."

"It's not your fault," Mike says, turning to Alex. "I hid myself pretty well." He smears his thumb across the tear tracks staining the guy's cheek, uses the back of his hand to dry the other side.

"Why haven't we ever talked about this?"

"Because… I guess, talking about it makes it real… And, I guess we weren't ready yet."

"Does that mean we're ready now?"

Mike stares into Alex's eyes, a deep blue sea shimmering with hope and rippling with uncertainty. "I don't know," he says sadly.

Feeling that pull again, like he's been reeled in, Mike curls up next to the guy, resting his cheek to a strong heart. Soon after Alex falls asleep, Mike begins to give into his own exhaustion, his eyelids growing too heavy to fight. But then a surge of energy rushes through him as he remembers his flight. He turns around and grabs Alex's phone off the nightstand in order to set the alarm. A pass code is required, so he enters the one Alex used when they were together hoping he hasn't changed it; would hate to rip the man from his dreams.

Four successful digits later and he accidentally discovers the last thing Alex had been looking at. He breathes out audibly, so much so that he cocks his head back to see if he woke the man. Luckily, a gentle murmur of snoring persists.

Mike looks back to the phone, still surprised to see the picture of them on the beach. He knows Alex was obviously looking at it and he also knows why. It pains him to think about how much the guy has missed him and it hurts even worse realizing why he chose this particular picture to look at, because he knows he didn't choose it at all. It's the only one he has. He knows this because he never let Alex take pictures of them when they were together. Never wanted to take a chance on them getting leaked somehow. It was a selfish demand fueled by paranoia and he regrets the fact that the only picture they have to look back on is one that evokes such sorrow.

With the phone still in hand, he turns back to Alex who looks so peaceful, as beautiful as ever. He curls in close again, nuzzling into the warmth of the guy's neck and raises the phone, in camera mode, above them. He closes his eyes and captures the moment.

Or more like _snaps_ the shot.

"Oh shit," he hisses and scrambles to the edge of the bed. The shutter sound was on and much louder than he would have ever had on his own phone.

Alex groans and inches closer to Mike; wraps an arm around him and sprinkles kisses to his shoulder. "Is the night over?"

"Not yet," Mike says, discreetly setting the phone down. He rubs the guy's arm as he melts into him, thankful his surprise wasn't ruined.

"Mike?"

"Hmmm?"

"There's something I didn't mention. I didn't think it would matter."

"What is it?"

"My dad offered to help me with my bills if it was too hard to stay here."

"Oh."

Alex easily detects the disappointment in Mike's voice. "You know I can't keep living here now."

There's a sinking feeling in the pit of Mike's stomach; he feels so foolish. His sights fixate on his ring sitting on the table. The light bounces off of it, making it rather bright, as if it's creating the light. He stares blankly at this false beacon wondering if Maryse orchestrated this whole night. Did she know this would happen? Was this her way of getting rid of Alex for good? He feels queasy.

"I want this. I want what we should've had years ago, but it can't be like _this_. Sneaking around. Lying to everyone. You figure out what it is that you want and I'll be waiting. As long as it takes."

Mike turns around and faces Alex, wondering if somewhere deep down inside he knew the words _one night_ would've been taken literally when he had spoken them against his cheek earlier. "What about wrestling? Don't you still want to give it a shot? Because you have so much to offer. I could talk to someone. Pitch a story for us. I'll get you back in there."

"When I was in the pool… when I didn't hear you tonight, I was thinking back on my career, remembering the rush. Wanting to so badly to get back there."

"You could get back there. You just need the right opportunity and I could—"

"It hasn't been about wrestling for me for a long time, Mike. It's only been about getting back to you because I knew it'd be the only way I'd get to see you. I know I didn't get to do the things I thought I would do, but I did so much more than I could've hoped for. That year we worked together was worth more than any gold I could've won. I meant what I said before, about having different dreams now."

"How can I ask you to wait? How is that fair to you?"

"You don't have to ask. It's what I choose to do."

Mike caresses Alex's face, wishing he could feel this type of clarity. And then he remembers a time when he did. "You remember our first kiss?"

Alex hums in the affirmative, his dimples accentuated by a blushing smile. "I remember I overpaid for your drink."

Mike laughs and playfully shoves Alex's shoulder.

"I also remember it being much more than a kiss."

"Do what you did that night. Take me back there."

"Just that? Nothing else? 'Cause I am at your beck and call, Mr. Mizanin. I could do whatever you want."

"Just that… for now."

"Should we be standing?"

Mike shakes his head.

There's nothing Alex wouldn't do to take away the painful longing in Mike's eyes so he reaches down between them, touching the guy exactly where he wants to be touched. Squeezing and stroking until he's actively reaching out for him.

Mike's eyelids become heavy, but not with sleep. The way Alex moves his fingers with the exact pressure he's most responsive to, the way he rounds the tip with his palm before pushing back down, it takes him back to the night he let his feelings for the man finally be known.

It was pretty late, as he recalls. All the other superstars had either gone to bed or were already en route to the next town, but not him. He sat alone at the hotel bar swirling his bourbon in a rocks glass.

" _What can I getcha?"_

The bartender's voice projects in the opposite direction, clear as ever in Mike's mind, as if he's right there sitting at the corner of the bar again.

He stares at his drink, knowing the question was directed to someone else across the way, but it stays with him, tumbling in his mind.

What can I getcha?

What can I getcha?

What can I getcha?

Aside from the bourbon? Yeah, actually there is something else he'd like, but what gives him the right to want anything more than what he already has? He has a girlfriend sleeping upstairs that most men would sell their souls to be with, and a red briefcase that all but guarantees he'll be standing on the top rung holding the WWE Championship high above his head. He'll be the centerpiece of the entire company before long.

Everything in his life is perfect on the outside. The sacrifices he made to get to this place have all paid off. But have they all been worth it? One sacrifice, in particular, has left an emptiness inside. An emptiness he's reminded of on a daily basis. For months now.

When he first found out he was being paired with Alex, he was overjoyed. And he knows he should be grateful that he gets to be near him at all. The guy flourished in developmental. He's still here. Not only that, but he's no longer someone he wishes would notice him. He does notice him. Every day. He's his corner man in the ring and his best friend outside of it. This should be enough, knowing he's able to talk to him and hang out with him; travel with him and work with him.

But it's not enough. Because he's not _with_ him.

"I'm going to have to cut you off."

That voice. He knows that voice. Wide-eyed, Mike looks up to the most beautiful man he's ever seen. The smile his friend is wearing would bring him to his knees if he were standing. _"Alex…"_

"Hey, bud. What are you doing down here? I figured you'd be sleeping."

"I…" Mike can hardly form words. Maybe it's the bourbon or maybe it's those eyes. Those magnetic royal blues searing his soul.

Alex looks to the bartender with a folded twenty between his fingers, nodding as if to make sure it's enough to cover the tab. "Okay, I think you've had enough," he says with a giggle. He places Mike's glass on top of the money then scoops him up. "Let's go upstairs, buddy."

Mike stumbles slightly, if not deliberately, and melts into Alex, nuzzling his face in the crook of the man's neck. Oh, to live here. Just here, blanketed in this warmth. This is where he'd call home if he could. And he does, for the entire elevator ride and the walk to his door.

"Where's your keycard?"

"M-m-m-my pocket."

"Which one?"

Mike shrugs so hard his whole body jiggles like jello.

Alex searches Mike's jacket and wallet and pats his thighs. "It's not here."

"Whoops."

Alex stifles a laugh. "I'm going to have to knock then."

"No, don't wake her up. Please."

"Fine. You can sleep it off in my room. Come on, I'm right down the hall."

Mike slouches into Alex again, grateful to share his space for a few more seconds. God, what kind of cologne does he use? It's comforting, like coming in from the rain; like being swaddled in a warm blanket next to a crackling fire; like taking the first sip of his favorite seasonal latte on the first day of Fall.

Like feeling lost at a lonely bar in the middle of the night in a town he doesn't live in and being found by the only person who matters.

He coos as he burrows his nose against Alex's neck, breathing him in and he knows it can't really be the cologne that smells so good.

Once they're in Alex's room, Mike is led in the direction of the bed, but before he makes it there, he turns around to his friend, his hands on his shoulders to steady himself, but really it's to keep Alex from walking away. "You don't have a girlfriend, right?"

Alex takes a deep breath. "Nope. Can't say that I do."

The admission should make Mike happy and offer him a semblance of hope, but he's mostly saddened by it. It hurts to think someone so wonderful, so kind and funny and handsome, is alone. He can't understand why people don't appreciate him the way he does. "Don't you want someone to hold at night? Someone to kiss? And talk to? Someone who looks at you like you're the center of everything?"

There's a long hesitation on Alex's part and if Mike didn't know any better, he'd think Alex is seeing that very look right now. He certainly hopes that he does. Alex's eyes flutter briefly as if he's breaking out of a trance. "Isn't that what we all want?"

There's a deep sadness in the core of Mike's chest that's been building like a rubber band ball ever since he was paired with Alex. Layer upon layer of pain and frustration, of agony and torment bundled up tight. All at once it snaps and that unbelievable sadness settles in his eyes for anyone to see.

For Alex to see.

"I want that," he says.

"Well, you're in luck, buddy, 'cause she's right down the hall."

"She could never give me what I want… what I need."

"What do you mean? I thought you were happy with her."

Mike's body weakens just a little. " _Alex_ …"

"Wow, you are so drunk," Alex says, gripping Mike's upper arms to keep him from falling.

"No, I had a few sips, that's all."

"Then why are you acting like this?"

"Don't you know?"

"I'm worried about you. You're not acting like yourself right now."

"But I am. Maybe for the first time in my whole life."

Mike gulps, mustering all the courage he has. This is like nothing he's ever done before. This is his heart.

"I see the way you look at me. The way you touch me. No one has ever cared about me the way you do." He presses his hand to Alex's wildly thumping chest. "There's something here between us that transcends everything I've ever known. Don't you feel that?" He looks up into his friend's eyes, but as affected as the guy appears to be, he'll never be the one to make the first move. Not when _he's_ the one with the girlfriend, not when _he's_ the one with bourbon on his breath, so Mike leans in and kisses him, and if he's completely misread the situation for all these months, he'll say he lied and _did_ have one too many drinks.

But by the way Alex embraces him, the way he curls his fingers around the back of his head and deepens the kiss, he knows he hasn't misread a single damn sign.

Is this what a kiss is supposed to be like? So intoxicating he's convinced he'll never need another sip of liquor again as long as he's with Alex. The way he tastes, the way he interacts with his system, is far superior than anything any man could ever distill. He rolls his head down, licking his lips, wanting to savor the sweetness and every sensation, and then he lifts his gaze, wanting to witness the look in Alex's eyes so he can remember it forever. For all he knows Alex could be doing the same thing, but then there's a very real tug at his waist and a clamoring of his belt buckle. A multitasker! His heart receives another jump start and Alex leans into him, capturing his lips in another kiss.

Mike feels lightheaded. Never in his life has a kiss affected him so deliriously. It must be the alcohol still. No, it's definitely not the alcohol, he barely finished the glass. It's Alex's warm, thick hand on his flesh, palming him, stroking him. He whimpers as his cheek falls to the man's shoulder. It feels so good he could weep.

"Let me be the one to give you everything."

Mike squeezes Alex's shirt in his fist, digs his head against the opposite shoulder, nodding; his face red from the heat, red from the rubbing.

The intensity of the memory is so real it compels Mike to open his eyes and he discovers his body is writhing from the way Alex is working him. It felt real because it is real.

Certain cues in his lover's breath tell Alex Mike is nearing the edge, so he rolls him over onto his back and kisses him. "I'll give you everything," he whispers against swollen lips.

Mike gathers the bedding in his fist, squeezing hard, his heels digging into the mattress, his body buckling under the pressure, the pleasure. The reminiscent promise combined with Alex's masterful technique sends him into a spasm-laden freefall. He couldn't stop himself if he tried; as if he would ever try to try.

It's a momentary death; a glorious death. And a triumphant resurrection. He's overheated and yet he shivers, his orgasm consuming him, the air tingling against his sweat drenched body. His belly is doubly wet, but it's not just sweat. It's thick and creamy and Alex enjoys lapping it up. He especially enjoys the way Mike giggles, even through his panting, when he sucks on his nipples and on his stomach, his lover's belly quaking against his mouth.

"That was amazing," Mike says with a raspy voice, running his hands through Alex's hair and then a jolt of electric heat zips through him. His entire length is being laved by a diligent tongue.

"You taste so good."

"Hey now," Mike heaves as Alex takes him into his mouth. "I d-d-don't remember that being p-p-part of what you did that night."

Alex pulls away, reveling in Mike's aftershocks. "You, of all people, should be able to appreciate a little improv." He nips the soft skin at the top of Mike's hips, steeping himself in the guy's most concentrated scent.

"Oh, I'll show you some improv… Just, maybe give me a minute first?"

Alex slides his body forward so he's laying on top of Mike. He takes it all in, wanting to remember it all in vivid detail. The way he feels under him; the way his fingers are raking through his hair; the look of complete satisfaction in his eyes, and the look of his cherry blossom cheeks; the way his breath feels against his face. "Can I just hold you?"

"Of course."

The two situate themselves comfortably, Mike nestling in close. The peace he's always felt when he's with Alex washes over him. The comfort. The safety. The love. It's all right here. Everything he needs. Everything he's always wanted. That sense of freedom he felt as he leaned against Alex in that hotel room when he unraveled in his fist for the first time. That certainty of knowing he was exactly where he was meant to be. How could he have ever let anything come between himself and that kind of clarity?

"I love you," Alex whispers.

"Just not enough to stay."

" _Too much_ to stay."

Mike squeezes Alex tight and this time when Alex falls asleep, Mike doesn't take a single second for granted. He wants to be present for every tick and every snore; feeling Alex's chest rise and fall, listening to each beat beneath his breast. He presses kisses to his collarbone and to his jaw whenever he feels the urge.

And when the time comes to leave for the airport, he kisses him once more on the mouth and sneaks out of the bed, being extra careful not to the wake the man.

 _viii._

A beam of light leaking in through the curtains hits Alex in the eye forcing him to squint. It seems as if the sun is shining brighter than ever, but he knows it's probably just the fact that he's not used to getting up so late in the morning. Usually he's already been in the gym for hours by this time.

If it were any other day, for any other reason, he'd be livid with himself for missing his workout. But this morning is different.

The only thing he's upset about is the fact that he's just woken up, because that means…

He sprawls out an arm, feeling the spot beside him, hoping by some miracle Mike is still there, but he's not.

He curses himself for falling asleep. Wishes he had been up to say a proper goodbye, to wish the guy a safe flight. To kiss him just one more time. Nevertheless, he says a silent prayer of gratitude for the gift he was given; for being able to apologize; for every second he spent with Mike.

When he's finished reflecting on the night, he reaches for his phone, enters his pass code and is entranced by what he sees. For a second he hardly believes it's real. Surely his bleary eyes are playing tricks on him. Blames what he thinks he sees on the memories of last night mixed with the fog of wake. But after a few hard blinks he realizes the image of Mike nuzzling against his neck _is_ real.

He's not sure if this is Mike's last parting gift or a way to ease the pain while they're separated, for however long that may be. Either way, he can't find it in himself to make a distinction. It's too beautiful to trivialize, both in visualization and meaning. Even taking into consideration the night they shared, this is much more than he could have ever hoped for. He allows himself time to admire the picture, to cherish it and then his phone alerts him to a text.

If it was from anyone else, he'd be annoyed by the interruption, but it's from Mike, and for that, he couldn't be happier.

» _Good morning._

« _It'd be even better if u were still here_

Alex bounces on the bed, sitting cross-legged waiting for Mike's reply, but the man calls him instead. Well, that's what he assumes because he answers so quickly he doesn't check the caller I.D. "Hey," he breathes.

"Hey, I feel really stupid calling you about this," Mike says with a very small voice, "but I think I left my ring on the nightstand. Can you check?"

Alex leans back and sure enough Mike's ring is exactly where he left it. For all of his worrying about it in the pool, he didn't seem to give it much thought before leaving. He delights in the significance, but only momentarily because _now_ Mike does care.

"Yeah, it's right here."

"Damn it," Mike huffs. "I mean, I'm glad it's there and I didn't lose it. I didn't even notice until I went through security and I tried taking it off and it wasn't there. God, how could I be so stupid? I don't think I can be without it for two weeks, Alex."

"What would you like me to do?"

"There's a flight to Phoenix at three fifty. I'll take care of everything for you."

"You don't have to worry, Mike. I'll bring it out to you."

"You're a lifesaver. I'll email you all the info, okay? I have to go, though, I have a signing, but I'll take care of the ticket first."

"All right then. I'll see you tonight."

"Bye."

Alex sits on the edge of his bed, staring at Mike's ring. The worry in the guy's voice, the desperation, it was quite excessive. Not a mention of last night either.

He's not ready.

Nowhere near ready.

Alex holds his head in his hand for a long stretch and then he looks back to the ring and picks it up. He studies the piece of jewelry, trying to understand why it should hold so much power and then curiosity gets the better of him. He attempts to try it on, wondering what it would be like wearing Mike's wedding band, but it doesn't fit. It's too small for him. And yet, it's too big for Mike.

With a little over four hours until his flight, he decides he has enough time to get it resized. Figures it'll be one less thing Mike will have to worry about. At least he'll have peace of mind in one aspect of his life. And for Alex, that's all he's ever wanted for Mike: peace.

It takes a few calls, but he's able to find a jeweler willing to fit him in during his lunch break and make the required adjustment.

"A rush job like this will cost ya extra," the jeweler says, reminding Alex what he told him over the phone.

The irony of the situation isn't lost on Alex one bit, but he agrees to the terms and says he'll swing by to pick it up on his way to the airport.

In the meantime, he returns to the house to pack an overnight bag and grab a bite to eat before his trip.

As he's getting the fixings for a sandwich out of the refrigerator he hears a faint sound. Very familiar. It takes him a second to pinpoint what it is, most likely because it's caught him off guard, and then he realizes it's wheels rolling on a track. More specifically, it's the glass door that leads out to the pool sliding shut. That's strange. He feels uneasy because he's supposed to be the only one home. But he isn't.

 _ix._

"It's nothing," Mike says, looking up at Maryse.

"I've heard that before."

"It's different this time. I promise."

The woman peers down into her husband's sad eyes, unsure of his sincerity. "I'll call you when I land," she says, peeling her wrist from his grasp.

The entire trek to her gate is a complete blur. She's traveled so often over the past decade that the check-in process is all but second nature at this point, but that isn't why she feels so detached.

 _One night._

The words ricochet in her mind until her own voice becomes as foreign to her as her native tongue sounds in a foreign land. Why would she have said that? Was it a test to see how Mike would respond? Maybe.

But no. It was genuine. It was in the forefront of her thoughts the entire drive from the restaurant. And even before that. She had been toying with the idea off and on ever since Alex moved in and she noticed Mike gravitating in the man's direction.

 _No, that's ridiculous. He's just going through the motions. This will pass._

But it hasn't passed. It's only progressed.

When she excused herself to the bathroom after dinner, she entertained the thought once more, but this time it felt like it was her only option. She knew why Mike was buying Alex dessert. She could see in his eyes exactly what he was planning on doing when he got home… and they'd have the house all to themselves. She didn't want Mike to resent her. She didn't want to push him away. Alex was the one who did that. Mike told her so.

The shift, she noticed, had happened at their wedding reception shortly after their first dance. He seemed happy enough, but then he wasn't. She had never seen his demeanor change so drastically before and was shocked to see him drink himself silly that night. In front of her friends and family. Thankfully the only thing everyone saw was a man celebrating a bit too hard, but Maryse knew better. That was no celebration.

"What's wrong with you? This is supposed to be the happiest time of our lives."

The grief-stricken man would deny anything was wrong, accuse Maryse of imagining things, but after many weeks of relentless pestering she finally wore him down.

"I lied," he confessed though a melancholic stupor. "I never broke things off with him like I told you I did."

" _Crisse!_ That was over a year ago! Before you proposed!"

"Yeah, I'm well aware. But you got what you wanted because I'm married to you and he… He left me."

Maryse wanted to lash out, yell at him for his betrayal, send him packing, but she knew that would be counterproductive in the worst way. "Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?"

"Just leave me alone."

So, she did just that, hoping by the time he got back from filming his movie he'd be over the heartbreak and see things from a fresh perspective.

To this day she's still not sure if he was hoping to get out of the marriage or just desperate to tell someone about it. Regardless of how he feels, it doesn't change how _she_ feels. She still needs him in her life. She can't lose him.

But he said it was nothing. Maybe that's all he needed – to know he _could_ , that he had permission, to know he wasn't being held back by anyone. And that's all it took to bring him back to reality. What he wanted was a fantasy and when given the opportunity to act on it he knew it was never really possible to begin with. She's convinced that must've been the last look she saw in his eyes. Acceptance.

At last.

Maryse takes a seat in the departure lounge, releasing a long held breath as she collapses the handle of her carry-on. "It's nothing."

Just then, she receives an alert on her phone. Her flight's been delayed.

 _xxxx_

Time drags on; an hour bundled inside every minute. Normally she'd be scrolling through social media or filling her cart with anything that catches her eye while she waits, but all she's using her phone for at the moment is checking for updates. She glances down. Nothing. Looks to the giant board displaying her flight's status. Delayed. Still.

Just then, her phone begins to vibrate in her hand, but there's no activity. No one is calling. And it's not just her phone, it's her whole body and the whole building. A low-pitched rumbling surrounds the terminal. _"Câlice d'éclairs_ ," she mutters, looking through the rattling window-wall to the staccato flash of light.

Why can't anything just work in her favor for once? She feels guilty for thinking that because the balance has been tilted in her favor for years, even when she knew she had no right to it. What if this is it? Perhaps she should be glad time is passing so slowly. She takes a swig of her artesian water wanting to wash the bitter taste from her mouth; to wash away these invasive thoughts.

Almost an hour after her scheduled departure time, she sees a bolt of bright, white light out of the corner of her eye accompanied by a crackling pop that makes her spine ache. The status of her flight finally changes. It's now bright red.

CANCELLED, it reads.

An alert on her phone says the same thing, including what she already knew to be the reason: lightning.

Heavily annoyed that her trip will be delayed by a day, and shortened by a day as a result, she calls Mike for a ride home, but he doesn't pick up. She tries again. And again. Leaves a voicemail, sends a text, and after finally accepting she won't be getting a response any time soon, she calls a car service. Knows her husband needs his sleep anyway.

When she arrives at the house, she heads upstairs and quietly enters her bedroom. After she changes into her pajamas and removes all her make-up, she slips into bed only to discover Mike's not there.

"Michael?" she calls out, switching on a lamp. Aside from a faint rumbling of thunder off in the distance, it's eerily quiet. She cranes her neck and spots Mike's phone on the bedside table. The ringer, she finds, is still set loud enough that it would've definitely woken him if he had been sleeping. Which, clearly, he never was.

After a moment of fearing the worst, she gets up in search of her husband. Heads down the hall in a particular direction, worried she already knows where he is. There's still a chance he's not, however, and she clings to the possibility, wanting so badly for it to be true. It's a big house. He could be anywhere. In the kitchen or watching television or doing laundry.

Yeah, laundry.

That's perfectly plausible.

In the middle of the night.

But then as she approaches Alex's room, she sees light seeping under the door and into the hall. Is it better that the light is on or would she rather it be off? It doesn't matter, he shouldn't be staying in that damned room to begin with!

She squeezes her eyes shut. _It's nothing._ He promised it was nothing. He promised.

She wipes her sweaty palms down the sides of her body as she inches closer. Hasn't felt this nervous since her wedding day, but even then, it wasn't encapsulated by a filthy film of dread.

Oh, God. There's laughter. Two voices. Not one.

" _Does that taste good?!"_

She covers her mouth and braces her back against the wall. That was definitely Mike's voice. She turns to leave, but no. Curiosity wins out. She turns to stay.

Needing the support, she leans against the wall again, stretching her ear, not wanting to hear, but wanting to hear.

" _My turn for a story."_

Maryse listens intently, her heart pounding in her throat, her eyes watering. She's never heard this version of Mike's past before, yet it seems like she has; each word tugging at her soul in an oddly familiar way.

" _A week later, I asked her out."_

There's an echo in her mind, as if Mike had said the sentence twice. The woman clutches her stomach, knowing full well she's the one her husband's referring to. His timeline of events doesn't lie. And that means she's the one he chose to hide behind. This whole time. She never imagined his secrets predated Alex. She always thought Alex was an anomaly; a glitch in his system; some kind of phase he'd outgrow. Were none of his feelings for her real? The thought terrifies her. With that, she decides she can't hear anymore; that she _shouldn't_ hear anymore.

Once back in her room, she straightens up her side of the bed to how it was before she got home, clears her calls and messages from Mike's phone, turns off the lamp and then collects her suitcase, escaping to a spare room where no one would ever think to look.

 _x._

Alex carefully closes the refrigerator door so the suction can't be heard and places his sandwich fixings on the island. He stands there waiting with bated breath, balling up his fist, ready to defend himself if necessary.

As the footsteps grow nearer he detects the distinct sound of flesh sticking to the hardwood floor as if the perpetrator isn't wearing shoes. An image of a homeless man flashes before him, but the impact seems too light, the opposite of how his own thudding footsteps would sound. Perhaps it's a teenaged surfer with shaggy hair bleached by the sun come to raid all of Mike's electronics and prized possessions.

Whoever it may be, for whatever reason they've decided to break in, it doesn't matter. Alex is a born linebacker. He's spent years training in the ring. He's six foot four and a solid 250 pounds of lean muscle. He's not going to just stand idly by while a stranger is walking through Mike's home.

But it's too late to take action. The stranger was closer than he thought and to top it off, it's not a stranger at all.

To both his relief and grave disappointment, Maryse rounds the corner, sauntering towards him wearing only a bikini.

"I thought you were in Canada," he says, relaxing his hand.

"No."

"Does Mike know you're here?"

"No."

Finding himself at a loss for words in the woman's presence is nothing new, but for someone who can speak so well, it always baffles him. Makes him feel worse than she makes him feel, which is saying a lot because he absolutely hates the way she makes him feel. So diminished, so irrelevant. But then something happens that he never would have expected. Maryse brushes past him, feathering her nearly naked body against his as she reaches for the fridge.

That was odd. It's not a narrow space, there's more than enough room, but he ignores the accidental contact, choosing to focus on his hunger pangs instead.

Maryse places a pitcher of fruit water she had made earlier in the morning on the island next to Alex's workstation and then disappears from his periphery. He glances up, his curiosity piqued, but just as quickly looks back down to his food. The woman's butt is completely exposed and despite his great admiration for her dedication to health and fitness, he feels quite uncomfortable.

"Can you help me?"

Alex looks back up to find Maryse standing on her tippy toes reaching up to the highest shelf. If her aim were to draw attention to her perfectly rounded backside, she's certainly succeeded.

"Just use a cup you can reach."

"But I need that one. It matches my swimsuit. Please, Kevin?"

Although he finds it exceedingly out of character that Maryse would want his help with anything, nevermind the fact that she's invoked his real name, Alex knows it would be as equally rude if he didn't help her. So, he wipes off his hands and heads over to her, reaching up with ease. "Here you go."

Maryse turns into Alex, her breasts grazing against him, her fingers doing the same as she takes hold of the glass. "Merci beaucoup."

A strange discomfort befalls Alex as he looks down into Maryse's dark eyes. He knows that look. It's certainly not the first time a beautiful woman has tried to flirt with him. But… "No problem," he says and walks back to his sandwich, hoping her inappropriate behavior will cease.

The tension in the room grows dense as Maryse slowly fills her glass – a grating trickling filling the air.

"So, your flight was cancelled?" Inwardly, Alex admonishes himself for not being able to keep his mouth shut.

"Too many lightning strikes."

Right. The storm.

"Tonight should be fine, though."

Alex layers the meats and cheese one slice at a time, wondering how it's possible that Mike doesn't know she's here, and wondering if Maryse knows something she shouldn't. "What time did you get in?"

"Oh, that reminds me. Have you seen the cannoli my husband brought home last night?"

A slice of turkey, pinched between Alex's fingers, dangles above his sandwich as he comes to a complete halt.

Maryse hops past him, bringing the pitcher of fruit water back to the fridge and proceeds to search its contents. "I've looked everywhere and I can't find it."

Alex drops the slice of meat and spins around, not knowing if he should answer with the truth or try and help her find something he knows isn't there, but it doesn't matter because Maryse is right there, facing him, violating his personal space.

"Have you seen it?"

Alex stares into Maryse's eyes, confused by her signals. No, there's no way she's really looking at him like that. Leering at him like she's a lioness on the prowl and he's her hunt, but not for sustenance and not for sport. Whatever game she's playing, he wants no part of it. "No," he answers.

Slowly, she runs a hand up his chest, feeling the definition of his muscles through his t-shirt. "T'es pas un très bon menteur," she whispers with a warm smile, batting her eyes.

Alex cringes. "What are you doing?"

"J'essaie de comprendre ce qu'il te trouve…"

"What?"

Maryse moistens her lips, opens her mouth just enough to convey a particular interest. Her jaw juts forward slightly, quivering as if she's enthralled, as if she's hankering for a taste. "C'est pas comme si tu sortais de la cuisse de Jupiter."

"Do you like doing that? Speaking French when you know I don't understand. Does it give you power? Do you get off on it?"

"Oh!" Maryse holds her belly as she cackles. "Choix de mots intéressant!"

"I don't have time for this," he says, turning back around to his lunch.

Maryse scoots up next to him and leans in close. "Because the champ has so many places he needs to be. Oh wait…" She puts her finger to her chin, looking up with a sadistic smirk.

Alex slams down the mustard container and turns to the woman. "You know, I tried being nice to you, but you've always been a nasty bitch. It's one thing to hate me now, but you've treated me this way ever since we met–"

"Because you're a loser!"

"Because you're jealous. And you always have been."

"Believe me, honey, I have nothing to be jealous about." She pinches the sleeve of his shirt, feeling the fabric between her fingers and then flicks it away. "Especially when it comes to _you_."

"That's not true. You knew what Mike and I had even before we admitted it to each other. Didn't you?"

Maryse shakes her head from side to side, her upper lip curling in disgust.

"You did. And it scared the shit out of you. But you never confronted him about it. Why?"

"You're crazy! I confronted him as soon I found out. And he told me he loved _me_ and he'd stop seeing you. Why would I ever think he was still with you when he proposed to me?! I never would have let you be at our wedding if I had known the truth!"

"You still would've married him?"

"Of course. I love him."

"Do you?"

Maryse doesn't break eye contact. Nor does she respond.

"No," Alex says, eyeing the woman up and down, "this doesn't add up. You're hiding something."

"Oh, c'est moi qui cache quelque chose?! Tu manques pas de culot!"

Alex throws his hand up in the air. "There you go again. Wasting my damned time."

"I know about last night." Maryse watches with smug satisfaction as the nuances of Alex's demeanor shift without consent. "I know he bought those cannoli for you and I know you two spent the night together."

"Why would you think that when he told you he wouldn't?"

Maryse glares at Alex, her mouth agape, her eye all but twitching. "So, he tells you everything?"

 _Shit._ For once, he actually thought he might best her. But all he did was expose them. A heat wave of insecurity blasts into him. He crosses his arms over his chest as tiny beads of sweat form on his brow and that confidence he owned so well melts away. "Not everything."

"You're nothing special. What makes you think he wouldn't rather be with that other guy?"

Alex is taken aback, thoroughly confused. "What other guy?"

"The one from the Florida Sta-" It hits her. Sucker punch to the gut.

"Are you okay?"

Maryse grabs her glass of water in an effort to channel her nerves. "You're not welcome in my home anymore…"

Alex turns away, tilting his head as if he's already trying to escape. He quickly slaps on a couple pieces of lettuce and caps off his sandwich with a slice of bread, gathering it and the rest of the fixings in his hands.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Maryse's cup starting to shake, angry water sloshing over the rim and her shrill voice is getting progressively louder with each syllable.

"Do you understand _that_?! Huh?! Am I speaking clearly enough for you?! I want your free-loading loser ass out of this house and if you ever–"

"Take it easy. I'll be out of here by the time you get back."

 _xi._

For the better part of an hour Mike sits in a comfy chair in the corner of his hotel room just looking at his bare ring finger. Why does it matter so much? It's all he could think about during his autograph signing. He couldn't exactly hide his hand under the table, he's left-handed for God's sake!

Intellectually, he knows no one noticed and even if they did, they didn't care. But his paranoia saturates his every thought; its current carving a canyon into his brain. He imagines rumors of his crumbling marriage trending on twitter; spreading to all corners of the internet. Even a seed of doubt planted in people's minds is a seed too many. He hasn't worked this hard for nothing.

 _But Alex._

He wraps his arms over his chest, holding himself. Last night was… Not a single word that embodies all that he feels comes to mind. He's not surprised. Not even a dissertation could describe it in all its glory.

Where's that clarity? Why can't he capture it and hold onto it? Why does he keep letting it slip away?

In the midst of all his sulking, his phone pings. It's a text from Alex. He's just landed and wants to know where they should meet. Mike responds with the name of his hotel and his room number.

Less than twenty minutes later there's a knock at his door and he jumps out of his chair, his whole mood changing for the better. He opens it straight away, beaming with the brightest smile, his eyes lighting up, his soul rejoicing, and he's grateful. Grateful he doesn't have to suppress the way Alex makes him feel.

Alex returns the smile as he passes under the threshold, blushing as the memories of the night before come rushing back. But it's more than that. It's also the memories of how it used to be when they were on the road together and he'd come to Mike's room and they'd talk for hours about everything and nothing. They could never get enough of each other, before they were together, after they were together, even after six hour car trips, day after day.

Alex glances back at the doorway. "It's been a long time since I got to do that."

"Too long," Mike says, completely enraptured by his own memories. Instinct and habit tell him to reach out and hold Alex, to kiss him, but then Alex turns to him, reaching into his pocket and taking out the wedding band.

"I have been checking on this sucker every five minutes. Now I know why you freaked out last night when you thought you lost it."

"I'm always so paranoid that damned thing's going to slip off. And so, of course, it finally did. I can only imagine how I'm going to be from now on. Maybe I'll start wearing a glove like the King of Pop."

"Yeah, you're definitely the king of something." Alex titters, taking hold of Mike's left hand. "But I don't think you'll have to worry about that."

"Oh yeah? What makes you say…" Mike's voice fades, his smile following suit. He was so smitten by Alex's charm he wasn't aware the man was holding his hand until now. It's the feeling of his ring, cold and hard, encircling his finger, slowly sliding over his knuckle, that garners his attention.

A tremble surges through his body, not strong enough to see, but certainly strong enough to feel. Wistfully, he looks up to Alex, perplexed as to why the man is suddenly wearing a tuxedo. And he's glowing; bathed in a blinding light that makes his eyes water. He's seen this before, he knows he has.

A certain pressure he hasn't felt before, slight, but noticeable causes him to catch his breath and he looks back down to the ring surprised to see it sitting snugly on his finger. "It fits."

"Don't worry, it's not because of the cannoli if that's what you're thinking."

Confusion washes over Mike's face as he chuckles through stilted breath. Alex is lit by a normal amount of light and wearing his normal clothes again… and what kind of response was that?

"I had it resized for you. Thankfully I got the size right," Alex says, laughing with nervous relief. "Hope that's okay. I just didn't want you to worry about losing it again."

Out of everything the man has ever done for him, Mike thinks this must be the most thoughtful, selfless thing of all. There's a heaviness in his chest, a tightness. He brings Alex's hand up to his mouth and presses his lips to his knuckles. He flips his hand over, presses another kiss to his palm and then nuzzles his cheek against the warm flesh, closing his eyes as if he's being lulled to sleep. "I missed you."

"It's only been a few hours."

"That's not what I mean."

"Oh." Alex tugs on his earlobe with his free hand. "You mean since the night I left you."

"No. I mean since the night I let you leave."

Alex pulls his hand away, his body becoming fidgety. "Don't do that, Mike. That was on me."

"No..." Mike exhales hard, wanting to expel his fears once and for all. "I chose to marry her. That was my choice. Just like I chose wrestling all those years ago and just like I chose to stay in that room instead of chasing after you. I _never_ blamed you. Not once."

With a thick sigh, Alex closes his eyes and lowers his head, fearing the worst.

"Hey…" Mike places his hands on Alex's shoulders. "What is it?"

"Why'd you take that picture of us last night?"

"Did you not like it?"

"I loved it. But why leave me with a promise of something I can never have?"

"I took it before you told me you'd be moving out. I know I agreed to one night, but being with you again, it was like coming home, and I was hoping we could start over. Pick up where we left off and it would be even better than we planned because we were living under the same roof. I don't know why I let myself believe that was possible. Maybe it was because these past seven months have been…"

Mike withdraws one of his hands and grabs his aching belly.

"Living with you and not being with you. Going to work and you not being there. Leaving you in that bed this morning, _willfully_ choosing not to wake you up… There I was all over again, standing in that back room all alone. By my own choosing."

"You're not alone anymore. I'm right here." Alex emphasizes his meaning by pressing his hand to the center of Mike's chest. "And when you're ready we'll walk out of that room together."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," Mike says with a restrained laugh, his eyes welling up, his body feeling unusually light, like he could float away. "I'm ready now. I choose you, my forever, my lover." He brings his hands up to hold Alex's face, a bashful smile spreading across his own. "My forever lover."

Tears rush over the rising rounds of Alex's cheeks and he pulls Mike close and kisses him the best he can through his incessant grinning. "I love you," he says, tilting his forehead to Mike's.

"I love you, too."

Hearing those words again – those words that just last night defied his every attempt and evaded him at every turn – is life affirming and Alex can't help but smother Mike's whole face in loud, sloppy kisses before holding him tight.

"Oh, God, I wish I could stay here forever. You and a hotel room is all I need." Mike pulls back, looking into Alex's eyes. "You didn't already get a room, did you?"

"No."

"Good," Mike says, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. "I can still feel you from last night." He feathers his lips against Alex wanting him to close the gap.

Alex traces his tongue over Mike's lips, tempted to take him right then and there, but he knows there isn't enough time to do all the things he wants to do. It's been a while, but he remembers the schedule of house shows. "You gotta get moving if you want to get there on time."

"Hey, come with me."

"I don't know. I mean, I'd like to, but I have no business being there. It might look weird if I show up out of the blue."

"To hell with what they think."

"Well, in that case…" Alex punctuates his agreement with a big kiss, excited to spend time with Mike and being amongst his co-workers and the atmosphere again, especially knowing it'll most likely be the last time he'll get to do so.

Mike pulls back with a loud smack of their lips. "Perhaps we won't do _that_ in front of them just yet."

"Deal," Alex says with a wink.

"I have to talk to Maryse first, y'know?" Mike winces at the thought. "That won't be fun."

"No, especially if she acts like she did today."

"Today? What do you mean?"

"She was at the house. Apparently, her flight was cancelled."

"It was?" Mike looks around trying to remember if he's even heard from Maryse. "Shit," he says, running a hand through his hair. "I've been so caught up with us and my ring that I– Wait, so she actually talked to you?"

"If you could call it that."

"Why, what happened?"

"I think she was trying to mess with me."

"What do you mean?"

"I think she was flirting with me, which, in and of itself was bizarre because she hates me. So, maybe she wasn't? But when I didn't show interest she started insulting me and calling me a loser."

Mike gathers Alex's shirt in his fists, nudging into him. "I fucking hate the way she treats you."

"Can you blame her?"

"I don't want anyone treating you like that."

"I kinda let it slip, about us, about last night. And she lost it. I legit thought she was going to throw her drink in my face. Or smash the glass over my head. Or both."

"You gotta be kidding me."

"And then she kicked me out."

All of the blood rushes to Mike's face and he can't remember being so outraged in his life. "That fucking–" The rest of the sentence is tangled up in a growl as he turns away. "She's the one that said I could have one night! And then she goes and uses it against me?!" In all his anger it occurs to him that one aspect of his paranoia was valid. He snaps back around to face Alex. "Do you think this was her plan all along? Was she even going to visit her mom or was that a lie, too?!"

Before Alex can answer, Mike takes his phone out and starts hammering out a text message.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm letting her know we need to talk when I get home."

After sending the text, Mike hurls his phone to the bed and interlocks his fingers behind his head taking deep breaths trying to calm himself.

"Come here," Alex says, turning Mike around and massaging the tension from his shoulders. Wanting to be held instead, Mike leans his body against Alex, rolling his head to settle in the crook of the man's neck. Alex wraps his arms around him and kisses his temple. "She's just hurting. I think we both know what that feels like."

Mike rubs Alex's arms and his hands, grateful he no longer feels that kind of pain. He turns around, his lips briefly meeting Alex's once again. "You're such a good man."

"Well, I've been where she is. Not being with you is a kind of hell I wouldn't wish on anyone."

"I'll try to keep that in mind."

 _xii._

After a hectic two weeks, including a trip to Malaysia, Mike returns home.

As physically exhausted as he is mentally, he heads upstairs to his room, thankful Maryse is out showing houses to a client. As much as he wants to get their long overdue conversation behind him, he's dreading it. Especially since his only communication from her while he was away was a text agreeing that they need to talk.

He sets his suitcase aside and takes one look at the bed deciding there's another bed he'd rather be in. So, he walks to the room Alex occupied for those couple months. The room where they reconnected in the most amazing way.

The imprint of love and warmth still lingers. He even detects the faint scent of chlorine leftover in the air. He runs his hand from throw to pillow and climbs in. If it wasn't for his tour overseas, this would've all been dealt with a week ago and he would have flown to Florida to spend time with Alex rather than curling around his memory.

" _Who do you hang out with the most?"_

The question pops into his head, triggered by the visit to Malaysia still being fresh in his mind. That and how much he misses Alex. It was one of many questions he was asked last month while on a promotional tour in the country.

He smiles, thinking back to that moment. It's not too often an individual question will stay with him. After fourteen years of infinite interviews everything blends together. It's all become quite repetitive and predicable. He has all the standard answers at the ready, but this one proved to be very different.

" _Who do I hang out with the most? Me. Myself."_

" _No, I mean people from wrestling."_

He hesitated, thinking back to the person he used to spend all his time with, but of course he couldn't say Alex. And of course, at that time, it wouldn't have been true anyway. But in his uncharacteristic delay, a clarification came.

" _Is it Riley?"_

Riley? There was no reason to bring up Alex's name. They hadn't appeared together on-screen in years. While this would've been a delicate topic to navigate in the past, he found the truth quite easy to divulge.

" _I don't hang out with Riley anymore. He doesn't really come to TVs."_

It hurt to say that, not only because it was true, but because Alex was living with him and he had so many opportunities to hang out with the guy that no one ever knew about and yet he never did.

But now everything has changed and he knows he'll be hanging out with him soon. Hanging out, making out, planning out the rest of their lives.

It's a great comfort knowing he's so close to all these things; a comfort he lets carry him off to sleep.

 _xxxx_

A few hours later, Mike opens his eyes, feeling as if he didn't wake up on his own, as if he had heard something. He lifts his head, wondering what it could've been and is startled. Maryse is standing in the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her.

"You scared me," Mike says, letting his head fall heavy to the bed.

"I saw your suitcase in the bedroom. What are you doing in here?"

"Just taking a nap."

"You couldn't do that in _our_ bed?"

Mike stands up, his body becoming tense. This is it. "I'm not going to be staying in there anymore."

"Because I kicked him out?"

"Why would you do that? Why would you kick him out after giving me permission to be with him that night?"

"You said you wouldn't."

"I know it's hard to believe, but I wasn't lying when I told you that."

"What does it matter when our whole relationship is built on lies?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you asked me out because you wanted people to think you were straight!"

There's so much emotion in Maryse's voice, so much specificity in her accusation. Knowing her flight had been cancelled and she very well could have been in the house, he can't help but find the timing suspect. "Were you listening to us that night?"

Maryse looks to the ground, her head still raised, her body defiant.

"That was a private conversation between–"

"Between you and your lover when it should've been with your wife?! Why did you have to ruin everything? Why couldn't you have just stayed away from him?"

Mike squeezes his eyes shut as he twists his wedding band free from his stubborn skin. "I can't be married to you anymore. I have felt guilty every day since the start and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of living a lie and pretending to be someone I'm not. Every single day of my life, Maryse. The lying, the cheating, having to apologize for who I am and what I want. I hate myself for using you the way that I have. I hate that I've deprived you, _and me,_ of all these years and I will not do that anymore."

"You don't get to get out of this that easy."

"There's nothing else to say. I'm in love with him. I want to spend the rest of my life with him. It's that simple."

"It's not that simple. Have you forgotten about your job? Everything you'd be giving up for him?"

"You think I haven't spent years of sleepless night after sleepless night coming up with every scenario imaginable? Thinking about how everyone will question my integrity and call me a liar and a deceiver and a fraud? How quick they'll turn on me? I know everything that I am giving up, but when I'm with him it doesn't feel like a sacrifice. It feels like salvation."

"I don't believe you. You _want_ to be Champion again and wear that title around your waist. It's what you live for."

Mike takes a deep breath, his lips pursing, his nostrils flaring. "I know what you're trying to do and it's not gonna work this time."

"What about _him?_ He's going to walk away without having won a single title?"

"Oh, _now_ you care about him. You don't have to worry about that. I assure you, we've discussed it."

"This will kill your mom."

"I'm sure after a little soul searching she'll come around."

"Your dad will disown you!"

"My dad is the reason I married someone like you!"

"Someone like me? You mean someone out of your league?!"

"No." Mike closes his eyes, he's so tired. "I meant a woman. But clearly you think you could do better anyway." He walks towards Maryse and holds out his ring. "There's nothing left here."

"Wait," Maryse says with a shaky voice, grabbing his hands. "Don't do this. Please don't leave me."

"Getting married was a mistake. I know you know this."

"No."

Mike huffs. "Is this about your green card? They won't take it away. I'll do everything in my power to make sure of it."

Maryse shakes her head.

"Then it's an image thing? You like wearing that rock on your finger? Or you don't want people knowing I left you for a man? Because somehow that reflects poorly on you? Or they'd think you were in on it and did it for the money?"

"Nothing like that. _I love you_."

"I used to think you did, but this isn't love. It's never been about love. Not the kind of love a marriage should be based on. And that's just another reason we need to move on from all this."

Maryse's jaw starts to quiver violently, her eyes shaking with unshed tears. "He can come back. You can be with him. Just don't leave."

"My God, Maryse! What are you so afraid of?!"

The woman beseeches her husband with a look of terror he's all too familiar with. It's the fear that got him into this mess to begin with; the same fear that held him back from chasing after Alex. This doesn't make sense. But the more he thinks about it, maybe it kind of does. It's the only explanation he can think of.

"Are you…"

"Am I what?"

"A lesbian?"

"Sois pas naïf, Mike!" she yells, pushing his hands away. "You think things are black and white. That if I don't want to be with a man then I must want to be with a woman. Have I ever talked about a woman? Have I ever looked at a woman the way you look at _him_?!"

"No. Not that I've noticed."

"No. Because I haven't!"

"But you don't want to be with a man? That's what you just said."

Taking a deep breath, Maryse steps back, lowering her gaze. "Not the way other women do."

"Then what have we been doing all these years?" Mike waits for a response, unable to connect any dots on his own. " _Why_?!" All of his emotions pour into that one word. Why? Why would she exploit his deepest fears in order to guilt him into staying with her after she found out about his affair with Alex? Why would she try keeping them apart even now? Why did she agree to marry him? Why did she spend so many years with him? Why did she go out with him in the first place?

WHY?

"You don't know what it's like to be single and in the spotlight."

"I kinda do."

"You don't know what it's like to have people look at you like all you have to offer is what's on the outside."

"Thanks," Mike says, feigning insult.

"I'm serious. The things I like to do in my life bring the kind of attention I don't want, but people feel like they're entitled to it. And the only way to be successful is to play along. But it gets scary sometimes. Being looked at like you're a challenge, something to conquer, something to change. It's easier with a boyfriend. It's even easier with a husband."

"So, that's what I am to you? A buffer?"

"Why not? I was your beard."

"You could've told me."

"You can't talk about something you're not aware of."

"Yeah," Mike says, thinking back to his own discovery process. "When did you know?"

"I didn't know something was off until you met him. But I guess that wasn't the first time you met him though, huh?"

"The third time, actually."

"Seeing the way you were with him, the way you looked at him, the way you _weren't_ with me, it made me question things about myself. Why didn't I ever look at anyone like that? Why didn't it matter to me that I didn't? But even then I didn't want to let you go. I liked what we had because we were–"

"Because we were friends. And there was no pressure. And maybe it had something to do with the huge payday I was about to get?"

"That was a perk."

"A perk you've grown very accustomed to."

Maryse looks around thinking of all that she has, materialistic and otherwise. "Yeah."

"I've resented you for a while now because of that. Even though I wasn't interested in sleeping with you, it hurt that you didn't care, and I really started to believe that it was all about the money for you. And the status. Living this life of luxury. Snapping your fingers and having everything you want. Going anywhere you want. Not having to worry about anything."

"You act like I didn't dedicate six years of my life to that company. I know the sacrifices you make, how hard you work. Don't forget, I was with you before _all of this_ came into the picture."

"I had some money from reality TV though, and connections in Hollywood. I was already living in L.A. I was an easy target."

"There were a lot of guys already living in L.A., Mike. There's a lot of guys with a lot more money than you that I could've convinced to move to L.A. if that's what I was after."

"A lot of guys who would've wanted something in return… So, why me if it wasn't because of those things?"

"Because you looked in my eyes when I talked to you."

Mike gulps. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up as if a cool gust of wind has blown through him.

"Why _me_?"

"Because I thought you'd say no."

Maryse moves in and wraps her arms around Mike. "Please stay and the three of us can work this out."

"There might've been a time where an arrangement like that would've worked _beautifully_. But we don't want to live a lie anymore."

With that, Maryse steps back, her eyes darting aimlessly, trying to think of another approach, but her thought process is interrupted when Mike takes her hand and places his ring inside.

"I know it's scary, but you're gonna be fine."

Maryse's facial features crystallize. "I want the house."

"Are you kidding me? I got half my net worth tied up in this house, Maryse."

"And the car."

Mike laughs to himself, not because he finds any of this remotely funny, but because, despite the woman's insecurities, she's rather consistent. She's grown too dependent on the lifestyle, after all. In the scheme of things he figures it's a small price to pay considering what he's getting in return. "Okay. I'll have my lawyer draw up the papers." Mike walks to the door. "I'm gonna move some of my things in here in the meantime."

"Hey, Mike."

Mike glances over his left shoulder.

"You can keep the bed."

 _four months later._

Mike leans against the elevator wall, staring at Alex with a serene smile and stars in his eyes. It's twenty floors before they reach their condo. Twenty floors of silent appreciation for the night out they just had, but Mike can never be silent for long. "I did tell you how beautiful you looked tonight, didn't I?"

"Maybe once or twice... Or sixteen times." Alex crinkles his nose. "I don't know, I wasn't really keeping count."

"I can tell. Did you have fun?"

"Oh yeah," Alex says with a drawn out drawl. "I don't usually like going to events like that, all formal and fancy, and that was a red carpet, right?" He chuckles and takes a beat to admire Mike's mirrored reaction. "But getting to do something like that with you, getting to support you for the whole world to see, feeling like we were accepted by those people–"

"Of course we were accepted. They invited us, after all."

"I know, but it was like being in a bubble. It's different from how we've been treated at work, y'know?"

Mike glances down, nodding.

"That speech you gave was amazing. Inspirational. Even better than all the times you practiced it. I noticed you threw in a few new lines, too. You never can keep yourself from ad libbing."

"I was just speaking from the heart."

Alex moves closer and places his hand on Mike's chest. "It's a beautiful heart."

A few more floors later and the elevator door slides open. The pair walk down the hall hand in hand, Mike nuzzling in close to Alex's neck.

"I was thinking of making pancakes," Alex says as they enter their condo.

"Sounds good, babe. You mind if I grab a quick shower?"

"Of course not," Alex says, sending Mike off with a peck to his lips and a pat to his ass.

No sooner does Alex get out a mixing bowl and the carton of eggs does he hear a thunderous holler emanating from upstairs.

" _Alex! ALEX!"_

Running as fast as he can, taking the steps two at a time, he barges into the bathroom and flings open the shower door. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Better now that you're here."

"For Christ's sake, Mike, I thought you had fallen!"

"Oh, I have definitely fallen," Mike says, curling his fingers around Alex's tie and tugging him into the shower.

"No, no, no, Mike. My suit–"

"It's only water," he counters, pulling Alex into him, but the man slips in an instant. Wet floor, no treads on the soles of his dress shoes. Not a very safe combination, but Mike is quick to latch his arms under his boyfriend's arms. "Hey, hey, I got you."

It takes Alex a few tries to find his footing, but with Mike's help he manages. "You really know how to get my heart pumping, don't you?"

"Sorry, baby."

At the tail end of a shared laugh Alex runs his hands through Mike's wet hair, tugging his head back just a bit, looking into his sparkling eyes. He's absolutely besotted by the man standing in front of him. "You're so sexy."

Mike doesn't reply, but he doesn't really need to. The way he's looking at Alex makes it quite clear he's thinking the same thing about him.

The sound of the running water drizzles down like rain, fading into the background as Alex gazes at his lover; subdued by its effects, subdued by his glistening blues. "If someone would've told me four months ago I'd take you out for Valentine's Day and be holding your hand on a red carpet the next night…" He pauses, his voice and eyes overcome with emotion. "Did you think it was a coincidence you gave that speech tonight of all nights?"

"Coincidence? I just thought it was God."

"God may have had a little help."

"Oh, really?"

"After you told me you were invited to be the keynote speaker this year, I called the organizer and explained why today's date was so special to you, and your journey. It was only a matter of a couple weeks and they hadn't sent out any invitations yet. I figured it was worth a shot. To see if they could change it."

Mike stares, unblinking, hanging onto every word, practically nudging Alex to continue.

"Turned out the venue was available."

For as much as Mike talks, he's stunned into silence. If only he had spent less time in his life blabbering and more time studying the art of poetry, maybe he'd know what to say. On second thought, maybe not. It's the indelible feeling a poet will draw from for the rest of his life, yet even his most colorful words could never do this moment justice. In realizing this, he simply brings his hand up to hold Alex's face hoping his eyes will convey the message.

"You gave up your house for me. As the weeks go on, it's looking more and more like your job, too. You pushed that divorce through in record speed. You were brave enough to kiss me that first time. You extended your hand to me when I was at my lowest point, even after I broke your heart. You brought me home cannoli." Still very much moved by the sentiment, Alex smiles and tears break through. "You gave me the greatest love I thought I'd never have and the courage to pursue it. You're my best friend, my everything. How can I ever thank you for what you've given me?"

Mike swipes his thumbs over Alex's wet cheeks, enamored with his soul, never wanting to be without him. "Marry me." He waits for a response, some kind of reaction, but Alex is frozen. "It doesn't have to be right now, I know you want me to give my dad more time to come around, but marry me."

"Yes, yes! Did I not say yes already?"

"No," Mike says, almost snorting, "you didn't!"

In case his answer wasn't clear enough, Alex takes Mike's face in his hands and repeats his answer again, emphasizing it with a sturdy kiss. A kiss that Mike quickly commandeers.

"Take off your shoes," he says between kisses.

"Why?"

"So you don't slip."

"Oh," Alex says, Mike having already stripped him of his jacket and starting in on his pants. "I'm thinking you don't want pancakes anymore."

"I'm thinking I definitely want pancakes… _After._ "

 _xxxx_

Alex opens the fridge, continuing what he started before his impromptu _shower_ with Mike. "So, we got blueberry, chocolate chip or–"

"Chocolate chip," Mike says, leaning into Alex's ear from behind. He snakes his arms around the man and kisses the nape of this neck. "With powdered sugar."

"Ah, someone's got a sweet tooth tonight."

"You seem to do that to me. You still gonna love me when I'm fat?"

Alex turns around, still wrapped up in Mike's embrace. "What part of forever lover do you not understand?"

Mike simpers, his cheeks turning pink, his mouth agape as if he's trying to think of a witty response.

Alex makes the same goofy face to Mike and then points to the pantry. "Flour."

Succumbing to Alex's charm, Mike kisses the tip of the man's nose and provokes a laugh by lightly squeezing his sides. He turns away, smiling so hard his cheeks become sore. The thought that every day for the rest of their lives will be even half as amazing as it is right now exceeds every expectation, wish and dream he had for himself.

After a stack of pancakes is prepared, Alex brings the plate over to the table and places it in the center. He sits across from Mike who's quick to sprinkle powdered sugar on top and douse the whole thing in syrup.

"Here you go," Alex says, handing his fiancé a fork.

"Thanks. They look delicious. You really outdid yourself."

"It wasn't just me. Maybe we should open up our own restaurant. Twenty-four hour pancakes. What do you think?"

"Yeah, we might have to!"

They each grab a forkful and watch as the other delights in what they've created.

"So good," Mike says with a full mouth, his voice muffled by the food.

Alex shakes his head enthusiastically, humming in agreement and then turns his sights back to their breakfast-dinner.

Mike does the same, but just as he's about to get another bite his focus is redirected to what's under the table. It's a slight pressure butting up against the side of his foot. He looks up to Alex, watching in awe as the man cuts through the pancake layers with the edge of his fork.

* * *

 **NOTES:**

THANK YOU FOR READING. THANK YOU. THANK YOU. I hope you liked it :))

Comments, feedback, and constructive criticism of any kind are all very much appreciated.

Malaysia Interview Credit: /wWBmxLnTco4

This may be a bit cheesy, but I can't not do this.

Thank you, God, for bringing Mizley into my life and blessing me with this incredible story and all the tools necessary to extract it.

Thank you, Chris (CJE), for appearing out of nowhere and leaving the most amazing, thoughtful comments on a bunch of my fics. Through them, you motivated me to write the very best that I know how, even though you didn't know that's what you were doing.

Thank you, JackValentine, for helping me keep my New Year's Resolution. I never discuss my fics with anyone during the writing process, or ever, but in telling you about this one (ever so briefly on twitter) it helped me keep my commitment.

Thank you, AtomicSky, for the French translations! Taking time out to help me with a story in a fandom you have no investment in was the kindest thing.

Thank you, Audrey, for tweaking some of the translations to reflect Quebecois lol

Thank you, Mizley, for showing me the light, for helping me find my voice, and for teaching me what true love is. They are my everlasting heart.

Aside from poetry and the occasional term paper, my Mizley fics are all that I've ever written and after five years of honing my craft, I am off to write a novel. Wish me luck :)


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